The Tale of George Weasley
by operaghost517
Summary: After Fred dies, George's life changes forever. How will he cope with his grief? And what does his brother's old girlfriend, Angelina Johnson, mean to him now?
1. Chapter 1

Funeral

**I really shouldn't be starting a new story right now (I already basically have 3 going) but I couldn't get this one out of my head! So, I decided to write it and see where it goes. Read, review, tell me what you think!**

George stood in the front of the large group of people that had assembled, dressed all in black, which brought out the pallor in his cheeks. _This is not happening, _he kept repeating to himself. He turned his face up to the bright sky above him, cursing it. It was as if the sun was mocking him, laughing at his pain.

The man speaking had droned on for what seemed like hours, though never even breaching the subject of who Fred really had been. _Don't think in past tense, _George reprimanded himself. His hand was clenched in his pocket, gripping something no one else could see. He would follow through, he had promised Fred this.

One by one, his family members walked forward, scooped a handful of dirt and sprinkled it gingerly on George's twin's grave. Molly had sobbed so hard the dirt had turned to mud in her hand as she and Arthur had approached the site. Charlie had stayed up there a long time, staring down at the grave of the brother he would never see again. Bill had walked up, arm around a tearful Fleur, and murmured a few choked words before turning away. Percy's grief had seemed beyond words.

Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Harry had advanced toward Fred's grave as a single unit. Harry supported Ginny, who had phased alternatively throughout the day from sobbing to screaming at anyone who came near her. Ron and Hermione walked hand in hand, tears streaming down both their faces.

Too soon, everyone turned to face George, the last to say his goodbye's to Fred. He stuck one foot out in front of him, unsure if it would hold his weight. He stumbled slightly, but was able to continue walking, if slightly off balance. George grabbed a handful of dirt, ever so slightly larger than the rest of the families. It was cool and moist in his clammy hand. Looking down at the plain black grave that held his brother, adorned only with the symbol of those who lost their lives fighting Lord Voldemort, George found it easier to complete his task. Fred wouldn't have wanted to go out this way, all silence and tears and darkness. He would have wanted to go out with a bang, and a bang George would give him.

He dropped the dirt on the grave, and removed the object from his pocket. "For you, bro," he said before pulling out his wand and aiming it at the thing in his hand.

_Bang! _It sounded like the exploding of hundreds of guns as George released the Weasley's Wildfire Whiz-bangs. People around him screamed as they lit up in the bright sky. Catherine-wheels, dragons, phoenixes, every shape imaginable illuminated above them, and George laughed hysterically. He sank to his knees, laughing until he couldn't breathe, until he realized that the laughter had turned to tears.

The grief ripped through him, then, as he realized Fred wasn't here to share this moment with him. George couldn't remember a prank ever pulled without Fred, and couldn't grasp the fact that he never would again. He gripped his stomach as he sobbed, glad most people didn't notice him over the commotion the fireworks caused. _Why Fred? _He asked miserably. Why his twin? His other half, almost literally? No more tears leaked from George's eyes, the sobs that racked his body silent, but he felt it all the more on the inside.

Suddenly, a cool hand reached for his, pulling him upward and leading him away from the dense crowd. George saw the slim, dark figure of Angelina Johnson in front of him, her black braids swinging slightly as she walked. He allowed himself to be led away, finding no desire to be on his on at this moment.

She pulled him out of sight of the crowd, around a corner and into a small room. When she stopped, George was able to take in the sight of his brother's once-girlfriend. He noticed mascara smudges underneath her deep eyes, revealing that she too had been crying, though, like George, the tears had stopped coming. Her hair was frizzing slightly from her braids, and her once pristine black dress now bore signs of wear. She fixed those wide, dark eyes on him, and George felt as if she were looking into his soul.

He thought she might go into a speech about how Fred was in a better place, or how he would've wanted everyone to be happy, all of those clichés. Instead, she laid a head on George's shoulder and said, "This sucks, I know."

George laughed a choked laugh. "Yeah, it does."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

**No reviews yet...Hopefully this chapter will get some. All reviews are appreciated, compliments, criticism, advice, whatever! Thanks and enjoy.**

"George, how _could you?_" wailed Mrs. Weasley, clutching at her son's shirt.

"Mum, calm down," he pleaded tiredly. The fireworks had finally been cleared twenty minutes after they had been initiated, by a savvy Professor McGonagall, who remembered the spell to make them disappear from the last incident two years ago. Things had calmed down then, or so George had assumed, for he and Angelina hadn't returned to the gather, instead choosing to stroll the grounds of the Burrow, where the funeral was being held. Once the guests had paid their final respects and dispersed, Molly had hunted George down as if she were a bloodhound and he her prey.

"Your brother's funeral! Ruined!" she sobbed, as Mr. Weasley tried futilely to restrain her.

"Mum, it wasn't ruined. Believe me, wherever Fred is, he's laughing."

"_Don't,_" she hissed menacingly. With one last glance that clearly stated _How could you, _Mrs. Weasley departed. George's father clapped him on the shoulder bracingly before following his wife back to the dilapidated house.

"Bloody hell," George murmured to himself, running a hand absentmindedly over the gap that had once been his ear. He turned in the opposite direction of his old home, walking over the dying grass toward a large hill a few hundred yards away. He and Fred had used to come to the top of the hill together. It was far away enough from the house that Mrs. Weasley couldn't hear their plans, but close enough that she could see them and wouldn't worry. This was where some of their best plans had been started, including Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. George sank to the ground, reclining into his arms, and remembered.

When George returned to the Burrow and hour or so later, he felt as if he was walking into a house of strangers. He could see everyone sitting around the fire, listening to Mrs. Weasley's favorite station, comfortable in the company of each other. Mrs. Weasley's eyes were fixed on the clock, where the hand with Fred's face on it had disappeared. George felt awful all the way to the pit of his stomach. Shouldn't he feel comfort from his family? The only people who had known Fred almost as well as he had?

The entire room turned to face him, and he stood their uncomfortably, his black shirt slightly un-tucked and hair tousled. "I, uh, have to go."

The whole room began to protest. Mrs. Weasley stood and pulled her son into a hug and he could feel the tears on his neck. "Oh, Georgie, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Please, stay."

"George, no," pleaded Ginny.

"You can't leave!" exclaimed Percy. On and on until George just wanted to yell at them to be quiet.

"No, really. It's important—business." He was lying profusely, and they could tell. "I'll drop by soon," he promised, swinging his cloak behind him as he departed the cramped household. The bright sky of earlier that day was always being shrouded by the cool, mysterious night. George walked for near a mile, enjoying the peace night went, before he finally decided to apparate. With a crack, he reappeared outside the shop that had been his and Fred's dream.

The windows were dark. No one had been in there for weeks. Verity had left months ago to go into hiding with her mother and muggle-born father. George didn't know what happened to them. After a while, the customers stopped coming, and Fred and George had decided to temporarily close and lay low for a while, just until Voldemort was defeated. For they both knew it would happen. They just didn't know one of them wouldn't live to see it.

He placed a hand on the green handle, not phased when it changed into a toy mouse, and proceeded inside. "_Lumos_," he muttered, not bothering to light the multi-colored candles that lined the walls. Following the dim light his wand cast around him, he trekked up the multiple staircases to the loft above.

The air was still and clearly stated that no one had been inside for a long time. The layout was almost as familiar to him as the Burrow. Without shining his wandlight inside, George knew if he turned right he would reach the small kitchen. Left, the living area. Down the hallway were the adjoining rooms he and George had claimed. The door between was left almost permanently open, for they were always exchanging ideas for new items for the joke shop. Across the hall were a cramped bathroom and an even more cramped spare room, which they had been using as storage.

George sank to his bed, removing a fake wand from between his sheets and closed his eyes, exhaling deeply. It had been a long day.

George woke up the next morning to light streaming through the curtains he had forgotten to close. He was still fully dressed in his funeral attire, which made him crash back into reality surprisingly fast. In dreams, he didn't feel the pain, and wished he could stay there longer. He counted the chimes of the cuckoo clock in the living room. _Nine…Ten…Eleven. _

"Merlin's beard," he grumbled, untangling himself from the sheets. Pulling off his creased black button-down, he pulled on the plain white shirt he normally wore under his magenta staff robes, though for the moment forwent the complete outfit. Shuffling into the kitchen, he opened the cabinets, knowing he should eat something, though feeling no hunger in his stomach. Feeling nothing.

Finally, he came across a bottle of firewhisky that he and Fred had bought as a celebration of the one year anniversary of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. He sloshed it around in the bottle. Mostly full. Good.

Chugging down a gulp, he descended the staircase back into the store. This time he did light the candles in order to properly see. As he walked around, still drinking the firewhisky like it was water, he realized that, somehow, the joke shop had been untouched by the Death Eaters. He downed the entire contents of the bottle in a second gulp and threw the empty bottle to the ground, where it shattered loudly.

"Why leave this alone?" George shouted to no one. "Why take my brother, not the store?" He pulled boxes from the walls angrily, throwing their contents every which way. "Is it just to torment me? So that every day I'll be reminded of him? Never forget this pain?" His voice was turning hoarse, though the screaming didn't drain his energy. Box after box flew threw the air, yet the violence didn't make him feel better. Still, he kept going, glad to have some outlet for the pain he was feeling. He kept going for a long time, as the pain registered and firewhisky absorbed into his veins.

"_Ouch!_" a voice shrieked, as George heard a thud, indicating that the latest thing he had thrown had made contact. Drawing out his wand, he edged around the corner, ready to fight.

"_Stup_-"

"_Expelliarmus_!" As George felt his wand fly out of his freckled hand, he recognized the face of Angelina Johnson, twisted in pain as she pointed her wand at him, rubbing her shoulder with her free arm. "What are you doing, you _blithering idiot_?" she demanded.

"No thing. Nothing. Not nothing," George replied, stumbling slightly as he walked toward his wand.

"George Weasley, are you _drunk_?"

"Don't know what you're talking 'bout, 'Lina." He lost balance as he leaned over to pick up his wand and crashed to the floor.

Angelina sighed and hoisted him up. She led him to the corner where a chair stood, prodded it with her wand to make sure it wasn't joke shop material, and sat him in it. She examined him for a minute, his eyes closed, fingers pressed to his temples. Finally, with a wave of her wand, a goblet of a thick, brownish liquid appeared in her hand. She held it out to him. "Drink," she commanded.

He turned his eyes, reddened from grief and alcohol, up to meet hers. She extended the goblet even more, and after a moment, he took it. Without looking at the contents of the goblet, he drained it. The world around him, which for the past while had been blurred and out of focus, rapidly righted itself, and George closed his eyes to avoid the sick feeling arising in his stomach. With a few deep breaths, he recovered, and was dismayed to see the wreckage around him. "What happened?" he whispered.

"You, dimwit," Angelina answered. "You drank an _entire _bottle of firewhisky, trashed your store, hit me with a box of Fanged Frisbees, then tried to Stupefy me."

"Sorry," he replied gruffly. "This stuff's a miracle, what is it?" he asked, gesturing to the goblet.

"My mum made it up. Dad used to get into the firewhisky as well. Well, not just firewhisky. So, anyway, he wasn't too fun to be around when he'd get sloshed, so Mum made this concoction. Her secret weapon. Mum was always real good at potions."

"Bloody genius, if you ask me." George stood up, surveying the mess. He pulled out his wand, picturing how the room once was, and said, "_Reparo_." A box directly in front of him flew back to its stand two feet away, but all around the rest of the store, the merchandise only lifted feebly a few feet in the air before giving up and sinking back to the ground. George kicked the box of Fanged Frisbees in anger, sending them sailing once again at Angelina's head. Luckily, she was ready this time and managed to cast a Shield Charm.

"Let me," she said. With a wave of her wand, the room returned to its normal state, and George once again sank to his chair. Could grief really rob him of his magic? Angelina sat on the arm of his chair, her voice soothing.

"It's okay, George. It's normal. When my granddad died, I couldn't do magic well for a while." He nodded appreciatively. Angelina studied him, observing his gaunt cheeks and the color missing from his face. "When was the last time you've eaten?" she asked. He shook his head, not remembering. "Come on, The Leaky Cauldron's open again. We're going to get you some food."

Twenty minutes later, they were seated inside the dim restaurant, listening to the subdued conversation of the people around them. Most of the Alley had closed down during Voldemort's reign, and very little of it had opened back up. The wounds were too fresh, too deep. Not a single witch or wizard could say they hadn't been affected by the War, could say they didn't know someone who died in it. Because of this, traffic in The Cauldron was rather slow. Two men sat at the bar, drinking their ale without glancing up. A few couples were sitting at the rickety tables, talking quietly or not at all. George was glad to see a familiar face in Tom, who thankfully had made it through the War. George didn't know if he could take another death.

"Your food," he said, setting two plates in front of him. George ate inattentively, not really paying attention to what he put in his mouth. Every once in a while, Angelina looked as though she was going to say something, then changed her mind. George found that he didn't mind their silence. With others, it felt awkward, as if something should be filling up the emptiness. Perhaps Fred. But with Angelina, it just felt nice. As if she knew he just needed some time.

When Tom brought their bill, George fished in his pocket for a few galleons, pulling out only lint. Of course. He hadn't changed, and had brought no money to the funeral, of course. Angelina just smiled and pulled out her small crimson coin purse, placing the correct amount on the table without a comment.

"Thanks," George said.

"For what?" she asked.

"Everything. Paying. Coming to see me. Stopping me from destroying the store. Everything."

She gripped his hand reassuringly for a brief second. "What are friends for?" she asked.

"This," he replied. "They are for this."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

**Wow...Harry Potter Fics are so competitive! I updated...3 days ago? And I'm on like page 25! Crazy! Anyway, here is the latest installment of George's tale. **

**Thanks to Dark Child Productions, krn-kimbap, and xsamxHUFC for putting this on their alert list! And to skateboard c, Dark Child Productions, Hope-W, and danalexkayarimad for reviewing! Please keep reviewing :)  
**

For the next few weeks, George was doing fine. He got up, got dressed, ate breakfast—Angelina made sure his cabinets were stocked—then set out for the day. As he wasn't ready to reopen Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and didn't like to stay long at his home, he would leave early in the morning and not return till late at night. Sometimes he would visit his family, and for brief moments, he could pretend things were back to normal. Or he would Floo Lee Jordan to chat for a while, or take a ride on brooms. Often he would find company with Angelina, who for some reason seemed to understand him better than anyone else.

However, for the past few days George hadn't been doing so well. He had refused all company, despite many offers, instead preferring the quiet solitude offered to him in the Leaky Cauldron and various other bars. Which is why, on this dreary Sunday, George, who sat on his bed, staring out his window at the view of the stone building next door, hadn't been sober in near three days. His family had asked him over today, but he had refused. They would be worried to see him like this, and he didn't want them fussing over him. And, for so long he had been trying so hard to move on, to put on a face and pretend everything was okay, that he was content in his own misery for a while. Though now that he was here, he was shocked by how sharply the pain returned. It had been almost two months, why did it hurt as if it had happened yesterday?

So, George took solace in the only thing he knew would make him forget, for the time being, anyway. At the Leaky Cauldron, George sat at the bar, three empty glasses in front of him. He arrived at four o'clock in the afternoon, but two firewhiskys and a glass of mead later, George had no idea what time it was.

"How 'bout another glass," he called to the bartender.

"Don't you think you've had enough?" replied the man, setting down the glass he'd been wiping with a damp towel.

George slammed his fist on the counter. "Just give me another bloody drink!" The man hastily poured a fourth glass. George didn't know what it was, and didn't care as long as it was alcohol. He slid another sickle onto the counter and with a nod to the bartender, said, "Bottoms up," and downed it.

Tom scurried up to George, and George vaguely wondered why there appeared to be two of him. "Sir," he whispered uncomfortably, "There have been some complaints…"

"So?" George asked with a drunken lisp.

Tom pulled at his shirt collar and mumbled, "I have to ask you to leave." Tom knew what George was going through, and hated doing this to him, especially in his current state, but he had to do it.

George stared around at the blurred faces around him. He didn't recognize a single one, and all seemed to be pretending to ignore him as he started talking. "Fine," he called to the room. "You want me gone? I'll just be going then." He hiccupped as he turned toward the door, upturning a table that was in his way to the exit, slamming the heavy door behind him. He stumbled down the street, trying to remember what way he should go to return home.

"George?" asked an incredulous voice.

"Who's there?" he called, his words slurred together. He tripped on the cobblestone path, having not seen that it jutted up in front of him. However, before he could hit the ground, someone had thrown his arm over their shoulder and hoisted him up.

"Why are you always drunk when I find you?" she said exasperatedly, and even in his drunken stupor, George realized it was Angelina. Though George was at least five inches taller than her and probably almost twice as heavy, she supported him all the way back to his door. She lead him up the stairs and made him sit at the kitchen table, setting a glass of water in front of him.

"No miracle concoction?" he asked disappointedly, for a blistering headache was erupting in his head already.

"You're not getting out of this one easy, Mr. Weasley. Maybe if you feel the full effects of a hangover you'll give up drinking once and for all." She watched him for a minute as he rested his head on the table, shutting out the light behind his arms. "Why do you do it, George?" she questioned.

He raised his head slightly and stared at her. His answer came out muffled and still slightly lisped. "So I can forget."

"But maybe forgetting isn't the answer," she responded intently, not taking her eyes off him, and George had the fleeting feeling he was in a therapy session. "What are you trying to forget? Just the pain? Or are you trying to forget Fred?"

"Everything!" he shouted. "I just don't want to feel anymore! I want to be oblivious to the world, drown in nothingness. And this is the only way I know how to do that, short of Obliviating myself, which I'm not too fond of the idea of. Besides," he added, "At least this pain I can control."

George laid his head back in his hands, and therefore didn't notice the tears welling in his friend's eyes. Didn't see her hand reaching out to him, puling back at the last moment before she touched him. He didn't see the pain written across her face, for she too keenly felt the loss of Fred Weasley.

"C'mon," she said finally. "You should get some sleep."

When George woke the next day—or so he hoped, for he didn't know how long he had slept—his migraine had dulled to a small pounding in his temples, and his stomach growled voraciously. He once again couldn't remember his last meal. Rubbing his eyes, he left his room and headed to the kitchen, where he hoped he could find something suitable for breakfast. What he found, however, shocked him.

Angelina lay asleep on the couch, her feet curled up under her so that she would fit. She had taken out her braids, and her hair spilled over her face gracefully, framing her eyes and slightly parted lips. She breathed in and out slowly, apparently deep in sleep. George walked over the cupboard, pulled out a blanket, and laid it gingerly over her. She stirred slightly, opening her eyes sleepily. As she realized who was standing before her, her eyes widened and a blush rose up in her cheeks.

"Oh," she said, flustered. "I just thought, um, maybe you'd need some help. Er, I mean, I didn't want to leave you alone like that--,"

"Angelina," George soothed, "It's okay. Thanks. I was going to make breakfast, are you hungry?"

She nodded, sitting up on the couch. "George," she began, "Do you want to, you know, talk about anything?"

"No," he stated firmly, cracking two eggs into a pan. He could have used magic, but wasn't sure he could trust his abilities at the moment, instead reverting to the Muggle way of cooking.

She came to stand behind him, her hair barely brushing his shoulder. "It's good to talk about it. Believe me, I know."  
"No!" he shouted, slamming down the pan. She took a step back in surprise. "I don't want to talk about it. Okay? I thought you understood that."  
She stared at him for a long while. "Fine," she replied slowly. "But I am not going to stand by as you throw your life away. I want to help you, George, but you have to let me." George took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

"How so?"

Angelina bit her lip. "I want you to open up the joke shop again. It used to be both of your pride and joy. And, let's face it, we could all use a laugh right now. And, I want you to give up the alcohol."

George laughed without humor. "I'm not an alcoholic, Ange."

She raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Really? Then why have I found you, roaring drunk, two times already? Why haven't I heard from you in three days, though Tom has? Why did I find three empty bottles of firewhisky in your garbage?"

"It's nothing," he said nonchalantly with a shrug of his shoulders.

"No, it's not! It's something, a big something!" she protested.

"Look, Angelina. Why did you even come yesterday? Was all you wanted to do pester me?"

She threw him a dirty look. "Actually, I had some good news, and I just wanted to share it with you. But if you think all I do is pester, than I might as well be on my way," she huffed, turning on her heel and attempting to leave. George turned quickly, grabbing her by the elbow and turning her again to face him.

"I'm sorry," he said, and for once truly meaning it. "What did you want to tell me?"

"I got accepted onto a professional Quidditch team." Her voice was flat, not full of the excitement George suspected there would have been if he hadn't been so unceremoniously rude.

"That's brilliant! Which one?"

"The Chudley Cannons."  
George groaned and slapped his head. "Angelina! They are at the bottom of the league! You can do better than that, why did you even accept?"

She stared him directly in the eyes, communicating more with her eyes than with her words. "Because I don't give up on lost causes."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

**Chatper Four! I hope you're enjoying reading this as much as I am writing it. Let me know please, by reviewing! This chapter starts with Angelina's point of view, ending with George's. ENJOY! REVIEW!**

**Thanks to Dark Child Productions, Ninna Boo (x2) and CynCity for reviewing! Thanks to CynCity for adding this to your favorites, and (again) to CynCity and 14 for added this to their alerts :)**

"I already told you, Katie," said Angelina exasperatedly. "There is nothing romantic going on between George and I."

"But you're going to _live _together," protested Alicia Spinnet. The three girls, who remained close friends even after graduating, were walked down the crowded streets of London, hoods pulled over their heads to fend off the fierce wind.

"It's merely for convenience," Angelina said with a dismissing wave of her hand. I'm just going to help George out. And besides, his place is much closer to work, and Mum and Dad are both moving, so I can't very well stay with either of them."

"Ange, don't you think it'll be weird 'cause, you know, you and Fred used to…" Katie broke up, not knowing if she had crossed a line bringing up Fred's name.

"Maybe it would be, if George and I meant anything more to each other than friends. But we don't. We are just trying to help each other get through a hard time. Get it?"

The two had decided the previous day that this arrangement suited both parties best. Not a lot had been said, but somehow they had come to the same conclusion. At least for the time being, Angelina would be staying in the spare room, helping George with the shop, and—subtly—monitoring his alcohol usage. Both were equally glad to have someone to talk to, someone who understood what they were feeling without having to say anything.

"Oh, this is it," Angelina said, stopping abruptly at what looked like an abandoned sports stadium. "See you guys later?"

Katie and Alicia nodded and waved, continuing on as Angelina tentatively walked into the building, watching as it transformed before her eyes. The rusty bleachers repaired themselves and raised high into the air. The concrete phased to grass, and broken basketball hoops shifted into three tall hoops on either end. Angelina breathed in the familiar scent of the Quidditch field, and jogged to the center where she could see the rest of the team gathered.

"You must be Angelina Johnson," said a woman. She was tall, with long brown hair trailing in a thick braid to her mid-back. Her green eyes shone with anticipation, and she possessed an aura of command, making Angelina assume that she was the captain of the team. "My name is Caroline Darcy, but you can call me Carrie."

"I'm Angelina."

"Right, team, this is our newest member. Angelina, she's a Chaser. These are Jackson Lindgren and Aurora Wilde, fellow Chasers," she said, gesturing to a slight man with thick blonde hair, and a tall, slender woman with bright red curls. "Emmett Solem and Erik Willis, Beaters." Two burly men with black hair nodded at her. She pointed at another strong young man, this time with brown hair and freckles, "Timothy Weber, Keeper. And I'm Seeker. Welcome to the Chudley Cannons."

"Mum, _please_," George said, dodging his mother's arms as they tried to pull him into a hug. "It's not like that!"

"What do you mean it's not like that, George? You're moving in together!"

"Yes, but not because there's, er, anything going on between us. We're just friends. She needs a place to stay, and I need help with some…things."

"Yes, but _still_," protested Mrs. Weasley, her eyes glittering at the thought of perhaps another wedding, "There's possibility."  
George sighed and, recognizing a lost cause when he saw it, turned away and walked to the living room, where Ron, Hermione, Percy and Mr. Weasley sat chatting. They all turned to smile at him, and George noted with some disdain that the sad twinge of pity to their faces hadn't yet disappeared as they looked at him.

"Hello, George," said his father, moving over on the couch to give his son room. "I think that's great about you and Angelina," he said, then grinned sheepishly. "We could all hear you from in here. You know, Molly's not exactly quiet." George laughed a little.

"Really, George, I think it's a good idea," said Hermione from where she was sitting, leaning on Ron's legs. Her voice had adopted that knowing tone she had used to use when she lectured Harry on how to ask Cho out, or how best to apologize to Ginny when they had had a spat. "Angelina's been having a rough time, too. I'm sure she's glad to have someone, you know…" Hermione's voice trailed off as she saw the look on George's face.

"Right," stated George, who was staring off into the fireplace.

"So, er," Ron, began, trying to change the subject. "Have you heard from Bill lately?"

"No, why?" His family exchanged glances, apparently deciding whether they should tell him or not. "What? Is everything okay?"

"Well, I'm sure Bill would want to tell you himself, but as it is…Bill and Fleur are going to have a child."

"What—Blimey. Well. That's great!" he said, his thoughts a little scattered. He was contemplating how he was supposed to welcome a new member into their family when the wounds hadn't even closed from the one they had just lost. "Right. Um. I think I'll take a walk. You know, get some fresh air."  
"George," asked Mr. Weasley, concerned. "Is everything alright?"

"Yea. Good, thanks. I'll be back in later."

Heading out the back door, George aimed for the broom shed, hoping to grab his Cleansweep and go for a bit of a fly. Instead, he found something quite unwelcome.

"What in the _bloody hell _do you think you're _doing_?" George exclaimed, He had thrown open the door, looking up at first to dodge any spiders that might be falling down. When he had gazed back down, he saw his baby sister locked in a fierce embrace with none other than Harry Potter. They broke apart quickly at the sound of his enraged voice, Harry blushing slightly, but Ginny's face turning red for another reason. The infamous temper was arising.

"What, George?" she said irritably.

"What? _What_? I think you know what!"

"It's none of your business, George," Ginny stated defiantly, crossing her arms and sweeping her long red hair back behind her shoulders.

"Ginny," he said, trying to calm his voice. "Would you please leave Harry and I alone for a brief moment?"

"Yeah, right. And have you, what, murder him?"

"Gin, it's okay," said Harry, giving her hand a little squeeze. She gave him a glare, but nevertheless, left the shed. Harry gave George a half-hearted smile, gesturing to an empty crate to sit on. "I've actually been waiting for this. Ron, Bill, Charlie, Percy, and your dad have already lectured me."

George didn't laugh. He ran a hand distractedly through his hair. "Harry…My sister…" he murmured.

"George, you don't have to worry. I'd never hurt her. She's the most important thing to me." Harry leaned forward onto his knees, his face shining in earnestness. George glanced at him for a brief moment, before looking away. He couldn't help seeing him snogging Ginny whenever he looked at him.

"Harry, you don't get it. You don't understand what it's been like for us! For me, for her, for our family. I just-," George was cut off by Harry's voice, which had grown angry.

"I don't understand? _I _don't understand? I've lost both my parents, my godfather, Remus, Tonks, Dobby, Hedwig, Moody, Fred, Dumbledore! You think I don't understand? How thick are you?" Harry's voice choked as he spoke, as he remembered those he had lost.

George sighed, trying to sedate his anger. Harry was right. He had known pain as George had. "I'm sorry, Harry. That was stupid of me to say. I was already having a bit of a bad day, and seeing you two together, it just shocked me, I guess. Just, don't hurt her, okay?" Harry shook his head vigorously. "And, well, I guess I'm glad she has you."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

**It's the Holiday Season! What lies in store for George and Angelina? Read to find out!**

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**You guys make me keep writing. Please keep reviewing!  
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The days melted into weeks, and things went on as normal as possible. The living arrangement Angelina and George had decided on had been working out quite well, excepting the one incident where George—unused to sharing the apartment with a girl—had walked in on Angelina as she stepped out of the shower. With a scream and a wave of her wand, however, disaster was avoided.

A few days after moving in, Angelina had helped George completely reopen Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, and the popular shop was once again bustling with customers. George manned the floors—though with considerably less cheerfulness and enthusiasm than pre-war times—and Angelina tended to the stocks and accountings, as well as just overseeing the general well being of the store—and of George.

True to his word, George hadn't touched another drop of alcohol since that one night. Not even when Bill and Fleur had dropped by to properly announce their news, George had instead toasted to them with a goblet of pumpkin juice in hand. He had been trying to keep in the light lately, too. Angelina could tell it was hard for him, as it was for her too, but every once in a while, she would catch him smiling a real smile, not the fake one that had been plastered on for the past few months.

Christmas was rapidly approaching, just a few days away, and Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes was packed on this particular Saturday. Children, teens and adults scurried around, looking for gifts for families and friends. Bedecked in the bright orange Quidditch robes of the Canons, Angelina searched through the crowd to find George.

She caught sight of bright magenta robes standing by the Skiving Snackboxes. George was talking with two young boys, a wicked grin on his face as he explained about the various types of Snackboxes.

"Well, you've got your Puking Pastilles," he stated, gesturing to the box on his right. "Eat one end, you puke up your guts. Gets you outta class in a jiffy. Once you're out of sight, eat the other end and you stop like that," he said with a snap of his fingers. Angelina giggled as she remembered Umbridge's class. Puking Pastilles had been her Snackbox of choice to escape from her reign.

George looked up at the sound, and smiled as he saw her. As she approached, the boys scurried off, a Snackbox each in hand. "Hey, Ange," he said.

"I'm off to Quidditch. Marietta is taking over the cash register, I've counted up all the stock in the back. Fake Wands are short, I'll order some tomorrow, and I put some lunch in the fridge--,"

George hushed her with a finger laid gently on her lips. "Angelina, I can take care of myself, you know."

She grinned sheepishly. "Of course I know that. I just…" She shrugged.

"Thanks," George said. "Now go! I don't want you to be late, Carrie will have my head." The two had met at Angelina's first practice game of the season a few weeks ago, and already become friends. Though she was glad of it, Angelina couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt every time she saw the beautiful, young Quidditch captain talking to George. _That's ridiculous_ she would tell herself. _So what if he likes her? I've no power over him. We're not together. _

"I'll see you tonight!" she called as she walked out the door, thoughts of George filling her head.

"Johnson! Where's your head?" called Carrie, flying over to her, Quaffle in hand. Apparently, she had missed yet another pass, though couldn't quite remember how it had happened.

"Sorry, Carrie. I guess I'm just…preoccupied."

Normally possessing a very sweet demeanor, Carrie's voice was sharp and instructive as she replied, "Well, you should be occupied with Quidditch, as we are at practice! Whatever is going on in your personal life, leave it on the ground. When you're in the air, this," she said, holding out the Quaffle, "is all that matters."

Angelina nodded. Carrie was right, of course. She couldn't let thoughts of George—no. She couldn't let thoughts get in her way. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to clear her mind.

"Johnson!" someone screeched as the Quaffle flew past her arms.

"Oh, bloody hell," she muttered as she sped down to retrieve the rapidly dropping ball.

****************************************************************************

Celestina Warbeck's voice floated through the radio Mrs. Weasley had set up on the mantle, the whole family gathered around to listen. George couldn't help thinking how different this Christmas was from just a year ago. One Weasley had died; another was soon to be born. One had returned after a long estrangement. A few things stayed the same as always, though.

The Burrow held more people than it was meant. Every Weasley was there, as well as their respective partners. Ron, Hermione, Harry and Ginny were off chatting in a corner. Fleur sat on the couch, Bill's hand resting on the small bump on her stomach. George noted that she still didn't seem particularly thrilled with the choice of music. Percy had dragged Charlie off a while ago to discuss some latest event at the newly reestablished Ministry of Magic, where he had been offered a promotion. Mr. Weasley sat napping in his favorite armchair by the fire as Mrs. Weasley bustled around the kitchen, preparing a warm dinner for the cold night.

A gentle knock on the door announced another arrival. George walked over and opened it, relieved to see Angelina's face behind it. She still was wearing her Quidditch robes, this time with the accessory of an orange scarf wrapped around her neck. With a jolt of surprise, George recognized Carrie Darcy standing with her.

"Hi," Angelina said. "Is it all right if Carrie joins us tonight?"

Mrs. Weasley, hearing this request, hurried over to the door. "Of course, of course!" she cried, opening the door wider. "George—move. Get them out of the cold."

The two girls stepped into the kitchen, Caroline looking a little uneasy, in a strange place surrounded by tons of new people. Angelina, however, looked rather comfortable. "Right, well, if you don't mind, I'm going to take a shower. Didn't get a chance today, Carrie worked us so hard." Angelina grinned and after George's nod, climbed the staircase.

"C'mon, I'll introduce you to the gang. You already met Mum, she'll be more talkative once dinner's finished cooking. Right this way. Okay, everyone, this is Caroline Darcy, captain of the Chudley Canons and a friend of ours." Ron scrambled up, looking a bit star struck. Even throughout all the years—and many awful seasons—his love of the Chudley Canons had never diminished. "This git here is my brother, Ron." Ron scowled and shook Carrie's hand dazedly. "That's his girlfriend, Hermione Granger. Dad's sleeping over there. Bill, his wife Fleur. I dunno where Charlie and Percy are. And that's my sister Ginny, and her boyfriend Harry Potter." Carrie did a double take at the mention of Harry.

"_The _Harry Potter?" she questioned.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "No, this is his evil twin." The room laughed, Carrie joining in shamelessly.

"Pleased to meet you," Harry responded, standing to shake her hand briefly before returning to Ginny.

"Wait, so you all, I mean, were you…there?" she asked. The room fell completely silent as Carrie unknowingly brought up the one taboo subject of the Weasley household. She looked around a little helplessly, noticing every eye averted from hers, and George's hands balled into fists.

"Oh, I think ze baby just kicked!" Fleur cried, intentionally breaking the awkward silence. Everyone jumped up and rushed to Fleur, exclaiming in excitement. The silence was broken, but the tension remained.

Twenty minutes later saw the entire household seated at the two beat up wooden tables that had lived almost as long as Bill. It was extremely cramped and noisy, which was good, for it meant George—and Angelina—had no time to brew on their thoughts.

George participated in conversation here and there, glad to find it was becoming easier. He even made a few jokes now and then. After two long hours, though, he needed some air. Excusing himself from the table and somehow managing to maneuver himself to the door, he stepped outside into the freezing air, leaning against a pole in front of the house and watching the snowflakes swirl down.

Moments later, he was joined by Carrie, who looked a little overwhelmed. He laughed at her disheveled appearance. "Takes a lot to get used to, doesn't it?"

She nodded. "I couldn't keep everybody straight—you all look so similar! I ended up asking Charlie how long he and Fleur had been together, and telling Bill what a cute couple they were!"

George laughed at his friend's mistakes, knowing that these weren't the first or last that would ever be made about the Weasley family. "Don't worry about it. I'd honestly be surprised if you didn't mess up once after I threw you into the shark pit."

Carrie bit her lip, wanting to say something. "Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot."

"Why did everyone get all quiet when I asked about, you know, the Battle of Hogwarts." Once again, George's hands automatically gripped up, his stance stiffening and eyes narrowing.

"I don't want to talk about it."

George noticed her drawing dangerously closer. "You can talk to me about anything," she whispered, lifting a hand and pressing it against his chest. George backed away suddenly as her face moved toward his.

"Carrie—stop. I can't." She pulled back, looking hurt. "It's not you," he hurried, seeing the expression in her eyes. "There's just…things you don't know. Things I'm not ready to explain to you. And there's…I mean….someone…" he broke off.

Carrie squinted her eyes, studying closely for a moment. Then, she visibly brightened, clapping her small hands together. "It's Angelina, isn't it? Oh, this is perfect!"

"Wait, no. I mean, just, slow down!" George cried out, hushing Carrie's continued rambling. She smiled sympathetically.

"George, it's okay. I don't know what happened to you, but you seem really reluctant to let someone else in. But do me a favor and trust me on this one thing. Tell her. You'll always regret it if you don't." And with that, she walked off, melting away into the bright snow.

Angelina walked out as if on cue, glass of butterbeer in hand. "George, what're you doing out here?" she asked concernedly.

He stared at her for a moment. Her dark hair was pulled into a simple ponytail, still wet from her shower. She hadn't put any makeup on, she didn't need it. Her eyes were already rimmed by thick lashes, her dark cheeks still held a slight flush to them. Her full lips tinged ever so slightly pink…

Without warning, George reached forward and kissed her full on the mouth. Angelina's eyes were wide open in shock, though slowly closed as time progressed. When at last they broke apart, she gasped. "_What_ was that about?"

"Mistletoe," George answered simply, gesturing to the bright sprig of leaves above them. Angelina stared at it for a moment, almost certain it hadn't been there before.

"George Weasley, are you drunk?"

His eyes shone as he looked at her, feeling better than he had in a long time. "I haven't had a drop to drink all night."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

**Short and sweet this time...I didn't want to ruin it by trying to make it longer. Things start to head uphill, be happy :)**

**As always, Read and REVIEW!**

**Thanks to: Mrs. Darcy14, danalexkayarimad, cyn23, Hope-W, and skateboard c for reviewing! **

**And to skateboard c for adding this to your favorite list :)**

George and Angelina sat facing each other across the small table in the dim restaurant, oddly reminiscent of that night long ago at the Leaky Cauldron. They had departed the Burrow after the incident under the mistletoe, and walked in silence into town, where they had entered the first restaurant they had found.

It turned out to be the perfect place. The crowd was loud and boisterous, the lighting dim, and the table in the corner secluded, all adding up so that their strange robes went unnoticed and their conversation unheard. They had arrived five minutes earlier, and sat, still silent, with two glasses of water in front of them.

A waitress approached them, her hair dyed a deep purple and styled into a shaggy ponytail that gave the appearance of carelessness. Her dark eyeliner was smudged beneath her eyes, and her face remained indifferent as she asked, "Can I get you something to drink?"

George—only having glanced at the girl for a brief moment—answered. "I'll just have, er…" he realized he didn't know any Muggle drinks, and was quite sure they wouldn't serve butterbeer or pumpkin juice here.

"Diet Coke. For both of us," Angelina jumped in. The girl gave George a strange look before departing. Angelina played with a stray lock of hair as she studied George, hey eyes questioning.

"What happened to the braids?" George asked.

"What?"

"You know, you used to have you're hair braided all the time. It's been weeks now and I haven't seen them."

"Oh, right," she replied. "Well, I guess I just figured they didn't look very good." George reached out and tucked the hair she had been playing with behind her ear, his fingers lingeringly slightly on her cheek. She shuddered a breath, trying to remain very still, not wanting to ruin the moment.

"Is it wrong?" he whispered, looking deep into her eyes. "Is it wrong I should feel like this? When you and Fred were…you know?" He was shocked by the pain this statement caused him. Not just for the fact that Fred was dead, but because his brother had once held Angelina's heart, and George wasn't sure if that grip had ever been relinquished. Angelina gently shook her head. "Tell me I'm not crazy for thinking this. For wondering if you feel this way about me just because I remind you of Fred." George felt a hand clench his heart as he contemplated how he would feel if this were true.

"George…" Angelina's voice was choked with tears, her eyes glistening. "It's not crazy George. I'm not going to lie to you and say I never had feelings for Fred. I did, I cared for him very much. When he died, a little piece of me died too. Fred and I weren't good for each other that way, though. You might think it's silly to say that because you two were so similar, but in so many ways you weren't. I know you, George. I know your middle name is Fabian, after your uncle. I know you eat like a pig when you think no one is watching. I know that you were quieter than Fred, but just as funny. I know that you are self-conscious about your missing ear, and try to pretend you aren't with countless jokes. And I know you hurt, George. I know you hurt more than any of the rest of us. But I know I hurt too, and I know being with you makes me hurt less. I know that it hurts me when I see you talk to other girls, and when I think about a future without you in it, it makes me want to curl up and cry. I know that…" She stopped abruptly, tears leaving tracks down her face, unsure if she should go on.

George finished for her. "I know that I love you, Angelina."

She laughed slightly, amazed at how her world could flip upside down with just three simple words. "I love you too, George."

He stroked her cheek gently. "We're such idiots, Ange," he said with a chuckle. "Everyone saw it but us."

She wiped away her tears with a smile. "That's what love is, isn't it? Being an idiot. Putting ourselves out there, and hoping someone will be there to catch us when we fall."

"You were there for me, Angelina," he said, his voice husky in its emotion. "Every step of the way. You never gave up on me, and I swear I will never give up on myself again."

"That's all I ask."

"I'll always be here for you," he whispered, and with that closed the gap between them.


	7. Bonus One Shot

**This is not part of the story!!! This is just a one shot I wanted to publish, but because SO many people update SO fast in the Harry Potter it didn't seem worth it to put a one shot up just for it to be on page 30 by tomorrow. So, here it is :) It is about Snape's feelings after Lily died, a songfic from the song "No One Would Listen" from Phantom of the Opera. (It was deleted from the movie, however.) I REALLY encourage you to listen to the song before, during, or after reading. It is so hauntingly beautiful, and I think really fits how Snape must've felt. Enjoy, review if you would like, and I'll update the actual story soon!**

Severus Snape kneeled in the rubble and dust among him, his heart split in two. _No, it can't be, he chanted to himself. I refuse to believe it__**.**_ It was impossible for Lily Potter to be dead, unfathomable, unquestionable. It was just a misunderstanding, any moment now the only girl he had ever loved would come running into his arms, happy to see him once again.

**No one would listen**

**No one but her**

**Heard as the outcast hears.**

He remembered when they had first become friends. She was a feisty little girl, only eleven years old, her flaming hair matching her spirit. She had scorned him at first, angry that he made her sister cry. She didn't know, couldn't know, that he didn't mean it. Only wanted to be her friend. Wanted to have someone to talk to. He though back to all those hours spent sneaking away from home, where he was forever hushed into silence. Running to her, her eyes the only place he could find solace, her small ears the only ones that took in a word he said.

**Shamed into solitude**

**Shunned by the multitude**

**I learned to listen**

**In my dark, my heart heard music.**

The strange boy, the poor boy, the ugly boy, the Snape boy. All names he had heard echoed relentlessly in his childhood. No one accepted him, no one wanted him. He had lived a lonely life for eleven long years, and in that time he had learned to be his own friend. To listen to his own music, though he longed for someone to listen with him.

**I longed to teach the world**

**Rise up and reach the world**

**No one would listen**

**I alone could hear the music**

Was it so impossible for a poor boy to dream of changing the world? How he dreamed of showing everyone what he was capable of. He regretted now exactly how he had executed that dream. If he had not chosen to be a Death Eater, would she be alive right now? Would she be his, forever?

**Then at last, a voice in the gloom**

**Seemed to cry "I hear you;**

**I hear your fears,**

**Your torment and your tears."**

Her little voice had lit up his endless night sky. She was the only one who had ever listened to him, who had ever cared for him, who had ever truly known him. She knew how he wanted to impress his father, though he never seemed to be able to. She knew how he longed to be loved by his mother, whose long, hard years of life seemed to have robbed her of this emotion entirely. She knew he wanted to be something great, to leave the life he knew behind in exchange for something grand and adventurous. But she didn't know his deepest wish, deeper than anything he had ever felt before. He wished for her. He wished she felt for him the way he felt for her. That relentless clench in his heart whenever he saw her. The way he wanted to punch any boy who had ever talked to her, not even bothering with his wand. The way he mapped out their future as if they were the only were people in the world. She didn't know the way he felt when she had married that Potter boy. As if his world was crashing down. As if nothing in life mattered anymore if he couldn't have her.

**She saw my loneliness**

**Shared in my emptiness**

His loneliness had nearly engulfed him, and while everyone seemed to run away as he tried to get closer, she had pulled him out. Saw his isolation and didn't judge him for it. Every emotion he shared with her. She cried when he cried, laughed when he laughed. Her bright smile and ruby cheeks made him smile. Every moment of happiness he could recall in his memory somehow had her in it. He hadn't smiled of any true joy since they parted, and knew now he never would.

**No one would listen**

**No one but her**

**Heard as the outcast hears**

Yes, she was always the only one that had claimed his heart. The only one that had heard him, and answered him. The only one he had loved and given his heart to. Who had turned it away. Now she was gone, forever. Never to hear her laugh again, even in response to something another man said. Never to see her smile again, even when it was looking at her son. Never to hear her speak again, even when it wasn't to him. He would never know another like her, and Snape knew he would never feel like this again.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

**My sincerest, deepest, utterest apologies for taking SO long to update. I went on vacation, then had serious writer's block, then started school...which all leads up to the fact that I'm not really happy with this chapter. It's fluffy, let's say. Doesn't really add to the plot of the story, but hopefully you'll enjoy it anyway :)**

**Thanks to 14 (x2), jubejube123, jadekate, danalexkayarimad, cyn23, and Hope-W for reviewing! Some of you guys have reviewed on every chapter, you are amazing!! Please, please keep reviewing!  
**

Adjusting to life as a couple rather than friends was easier than either of them expected, the transition seamless and effortless. They went about their daily routines basically the same as before, with only a few things changed. Angelina waking George up with a soft kiss when he fell asleep on the couch after a long day. George handing Angelina a fake wand, which burst, instead of into a rubber chicken or the like, into a beautiful bouquet of roses, which turned out to be everlasting. She had put them in the ornate vase above the sink in the kitchen, and just the sight of them could bring her out of any bad mood she was feeling.

The Holiday Season had come and gone in a blur of colors, presents, and revelations, and now, on the other side of the New Year, things were starting to change. Hogwarts would be reopened the coming year. It had been closed for the most recent school year for repairs and out of respect for those deceased. Those who were in the middle of their education were either home schooled or sent off to another Wizarding school for the year, and those who would have graduated were offered the chance to repeat their final year. Ginny was one of those who declined the offer. The halls of Hogwarts castle held too many memories for her now, most of which she wasn't ready to relive.

Meanwhile, she was practicing Quidditch constantly to achieve her dream of making it onto the Hollyhead Harpies. Harry had been assisting her, though lately he had been spending much of his time at the Ministry, where his Auror training had just begun. Neither Ron nor Hermione had spent much time job searching, though Ron had expressed some desire in being an Auror, and being Hermione, she was still constantly studying, trying to make up for lost learning.

The most shocking change, however, was the change in George himself. He was no longer despondent, humorless, and unsmiling. He laughed now, loud and clear. He smiled easily, the winkle finally returning to his eyes. He made jokes now, too, and was even contemplating experimenting with some new products for the joke shop. Being with his family now was easy as it once was, he even took comfort in their company once again. No one failed to notice this, and though no one directly commented, they certainly all knew the cause of George's new attitude. Angelina made all the difference in George.

Of course, the hurt wasn't entirely gone. Sometimes he would sit up at night, staring at a nothing, and Angelina would curl up next to him, her small frame resting perfectly against his. Sometimes they would say nothing, other times they would talk for hours about Fred, Hogwarts, and the good times they had.

It was February 12th today, and as George had never had a cause to celebrate Valentine's day before, was shocked to find it only two days away, thanks to Ron for reminding him. He had been sitting in the Burrow's living room, Angelina at practice, leafing through an old catalogue of Zonko's, looking for inspiration. Ron had burst in, looking disgruntled.

"What's up, Ron?" Taking a look at Ron's hair, somehow sticking near straight up on his head, had added, "Channeling Elvis, are you?"

"No—Who?" Ron questioned, but George shook his head. Angelina had passed on a taste of Muggle music to him, having gotten it from her own father. However, sometimes George forgot that his family wouldn't understand, though his father most certainly be willing to.

"Listen, George. I, er, need some advice. About Hermione."

"Ah, some trouble with the ol' girl? I must say, I'm not surprised, never could understand why she's with a git like you…"

Ron threw a book at him, which George deflected with a lazy flick of his wand. "Shut it!" he yelled.

"Easy, Ron. I was only joking!"

"Right, sorry. It's just…Hermione, you know?" George nodded his head. For all his relentless teasing of his younger brother, George actually did understand, and realized he could have been a bit more sympathetic. He imagined how he would have felt if someone had said the same thing about he and Angelina.

"Sorry," he said again. "What did you want to ask?"

"Well, you know…Valentine's Day is coming up and all…and I just don't know what to do…"

"Blimey, Valentine's Day?" George hadn't even remembered, and was hitting himself for not. He was going to screw this up with the only serious girlfriend he'd ever had.

"Well, yeah. I was hoping you could help me? What're you doing for Angelina?"

"Er, well. Why aren't you asking Ginny about this? I'm sure she'd give better advice."

"She'd tell Hermione!"

"Right, she would. Well, sorry I can be of no assistance. Best of luck." George stood up and departed, leaving Ron looking slightly deflated behind him. "Tell Mum I'll be 'round for dinner soon!" he called as he walked through the door, rubbing his hands together to keep warm.

"Bloody hell," he muttered to himself. "What am I supposed to do?" He glanced at his gold watch, which had been given to him on his seventeenth birthday, almost four years ago now. Three thirty. Angelina wouldn't get out for another hour, he could try to find something in that time. But that was the problem! He had no idea what to even look for. He needed advice, but from whom? He would've asked Bill, but he and Fleur were visiting her aprent's in France. Lee would probably laugh at him. Not Ange's friends, Katie and Alicia would be sure to tell Angelina. Which led him to another thought, someone whose advice had led him to tell Angelina his feelings in the first place. Yes, that is whom he would ask.

George stood outside the entrance to the Quidditch pitch where the Chudley Canons held their practice, ten minutes past four, concealed by a building. He was counting on the fact that Carrie always came out last so he could catch her alone. He heard the voices of Angelina's teammates as they left, their voices familiar to him. He caught Ange's voice mingled with the rest, and though he wanted to, didn't jump out to join her as she walked away. Finally, deeming the coast clear, ducked inside the building, where, as suspecting, Carrie was sitting, poring over parchments of various Quidditch plays.

"Carrie," he called. She jumped up, flicking her wand hastily, causing the papers to snap shut and fly into her bag. "Top secret?" he asked.

She laughed. "You know the drill. Can't take any chances."

"I know, I know." He came to a stop in front of her.

"Did you come here for a particular reason? Angelina's already left, actually."

"No, I came here to ask you something." She raised her eyebrows questioningly. "I need some advice." Carrie nodded knowingly, as if she was already expecting it. "Well, it's Valentine's Day in a few days, and I don't know what to do. I mean, I do, but I…don't. You see?"

Carrie hooted with laughter at George's mangled words and pained expression. "I don't think anyone would see, George," she chuckled. "Luckily, I'm not just anyone, so I do see. You two are just hopeless, aren't you?"

"Well—Hey, wait. What do you mean, you two?"

She smiled mischievously. "Well, let's just say Angelina isn't quite as sure as she might appear to be."

"What? Did she ask you too? What'd you tell her!"

Carrie just giggled and shook her head. "I swore not to tell. But here, take this advice. I'm sure you know this, but Angelina isn't a material girl. She would much rather have something that showed how you felt about her than an expensive dress or such."

"Yes, but what would that be?" he demanded.

"You tell me. Oh, gotta go, Tim's waiting for me!" she said, sauntering off to where the handsome Keeper was leaning against the door, leaving George alone and confused.

The thirteenth came and went much to fast, leaving George still without a clue. He had tried to get Angelina to drop a hint, but she was unyielding, and he didn't want to be too obvious. Resigned to improvising, George picked up some Angelina's favorite flower on the way home—lilacs—and some groceries for her favorite meal. Carrie was running practice late today, at his request, and he planned to have dinner ready when she arrived, tired and cranky from the late practice.

However, things didn't go quite as planned. He had been attempting to cook roast chicken the Muggle way, because for some inexplicable reason Angelina insisted it tasted better that way. Unfortunately, their oven didn't have a timer, and George, accustomed to his mother's charms magically knowing when the food was done, had allowed the poultry to become a charred mess. He had been tidying up the living room when the thick smell of smoke filled his nose. "Bloody hell…" he muttered, hurrying into the kitchen. He was faced with gray clouds emitting from the oven, and clearing them with his wand, pulled out the blackened bird, cursing under his breath.

The front door creaked open before George even had time to do away with the destroyed dinner. "Hello?" called Angelina's weary voice from the entrance.

"Ange—wait. Don't come back here." Of course, she didn't listen. She rushed back when she smelled the smoke, alarm written across her face. Upon entering the kitchen, it melted away, replaced with a twisted smile, and George knew she was clearly trying not to burst into laughter. "Merlin's pants...God, Ange, this wasn't how it was supposed to be." He looked down at himself, his nice clothing stained with food and burnt chicken, smelling of smoke. His hair was a mess, and didn't flatten down when he brushed a hand over it.

"How was it supposed to be?" she asked, coming over to help him clean.

"Well, for one, I wasn't supposed to have burned the bird. You were supposed to have walked in the door, exhausted from a long day of practice, and I would have had dinner ready for you like a housewife in the fifties." She grinned at this. "Instead, you get _poulet brûle__. _Happy Valentine's Day…" he added on dejectedly.

Angelina stopped her laughing smile, and sank down to the floor where George had sat down. With both hands on either side of his face, she turned his face toward hers. "George," she breathed, their faces just a hair's breadth apart. "This was the sweetest thing ever." She kissed his right cheek. "You did everything right—except the cooking, obviously." He chuckled, and she kissed his left cheek. "I didn't even know you'd remembered Valentine's Day, let alone all my favorites." She kissed his chin.

"Of course I do, Ange. I love you." She kissed his mouth, wrapping her arms securely around his neck. Her gripped her close, standing up and spinning her around.

"Anyway, I think it's sweet you can't cook anything more than toast," she stated, having drawn away from him slightly. "That's what I'm here for." And with that hopped out of his arms and began preparing dinner again, George staring forlornly after her.

"Is that it? I was under the impression you were here for something more," he said, pulled her back once again into a passionate embrace.


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

**Ahh! It's been so long! I'd like to apologize to all of you for taking many months to get this up, it's been hectic! Also to thank you from the bottom of my heart if you have haven't given up on my story yet because I haven't updated in ages :)**

**I had a massive case of writers block over the past few months--there were actually one or two chapters I wanted to include before this one, but the words and ideas weren't coming, so I moved on. Which means that if i have a sudden inspiration it is very possible I will go back and add some more, so be on the look out! **

**This chapter was extremely hard to write, as I wanted to cram as many things in as I invisioned as possible. Obviously this isn't going to be how everyone pictured this day, but I hope you appreciate and enjoy my point of view :) This is actually something I imagined from the second I finished the book, and while I've changed and added some things, this was basically my original vision. **

**Thank you SO much to EVERYONE who has ever reviewed, added this to favorite/alert, or even just read this. It means the world to me that anyone even reads it, and to see that you all review it so positively just makes my day! So please, keep reviewing and I promise to update faster. I'm not the type of person to say I won't update until I have 50 reviews! But really, more reviews does make me more motivated to update!! **

**Long intro--I know. If you have actually taken the time to read this whole thing than once again, thank you. Enjoy the chapter and review review review!! **

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When George woke up that morning, the sun was already creeping through the window. Thin rays leaked into the bedroom, prying his reluctant eyes open. He reached an arm out, searching for Angelina's warm frame. She snuggled close to him automatically when his arm found her.

"Hey," she whispered, their faces inches a part.

"Hey," he whispered back. Angelina studied him for a moment, and George knew she was trying to figure out how he was feeling. For the brief moment he had had before waking and sleeping, he had forgotten the day. Now, he remembered it clearly, as it had been pressing on his heart for the past year.

May 2, 1999. The one-year anniversary of The Battle of Hogwarts. Of Voldemort's defeat. Of Remus and Tonk's death. Of Fred's death. George closed his eyes again, as if that could block out the pain. Angelina's cool hand stroked his temple, and he found a brief respite from the pain in her comforting caress. He reached up and intertwined his strong fingers in hers, giving her a little squeeze.

"How are you?" she asked, a slight crease forming between her eyebrows.

He gave a hollow laugh and reached a finger up to smooth the crease. "I've been better."

"Yeah, me too," Angelina replied.

For a day in early May, the sky was a dull gray and the weather a bit cold. The only light that streamed through the partially opened curtains was that of the street lamp. This didn't help George find the will to leave the comfort of his bed and Angelina to face whatever may come on that day. With a sigh, he heaved himself from the bed, pulling Angelina with him.

As they got ready, the feeling of dread in the pit of George's stomach intensified, so that by the time they were about to head to the Burrow—by Floo Powder, of course—George felt as though he might vomit. As if sensing this, Angelina gripped George's hand tightly, her small fingers helping him find his own strength. "It'll be find, George," she soothed, though he knew she was saying this as much to herself as she was to him.

This day signified so many different events that George didn't quite know how to organize his feelings. He wasn't sure how other people were going to react, either. If people were celebrating, would George be able to keep himself from resenting them? George knew that there was no way everyone could be aware of the fact that this day commemorated the death of his twin, but he also knew that sometimes judgment was unfair, and that most likely he would judge someone if they weren't mourning like he was.

Upon arriving at the Burrow, George and Angelina found it already filled with people, all dressed in black dress robes as they were. "George, Angelina," smiled a teary Mrs. Weasley, who was the first to notice them. She kissed each of them on the cheek and ushered them into the kitchen, where everyone else was conversing around the battered tables. Departing from tradition, Mrs. Weasley had prepared no food, as it would be served at Hogwarts, where the memorial would be held later that day. Harry had been asked to give a speech, something that George knew he had been fretting over for quite some time. Now, he sat with Ron, chatting with Mundungus Fletcher about who knows what, while Ginny and Hermione looked on from their position by the window. George walked over to them while Angelina stayed with Fleur to discuss the baby.

"Hey Ginny, Hermione," he said.

"George," Ginny replied, wrapping her arms around him briefly. Hermione embraced him, too, and George could see her eyes were slightly red, as if she were trying to hold back tears. Ginny stared at him resolutely, determined not to show any trace of the emotion that must be plaguing her.

"I'm so glad you and Ange are here," she said. "Mum's been going crazy. She wants to leave early so that we can be sure to 'get good seats.' As if they won't have them saved for us, because of Harry you know." George laughed slightly at his mother's excessive worry and the perks of being friends with the Boy Who Lived.

As if on cue, Mrs. Weasley raised her voice out loud, somehow managing to gather the attention of the phalanx of people in the cramped rooms. "Alright, everyone," she called out, "Let's get going then!" She gestured to the hairbrush in her right hand and old watering can in her left. "These Portkeys will be going off in just a few minutes. Let's see…Harry, Ron, Ginny, Hermione, Percy, Charlie and Arthur, you take the brush. Bill, Fleur, Angelina, Mundungus, George, Kingsley, and I will take the watering can."

In all the hustle and bustle that followed, George only just barely managed to lay a finger on the Portkey before there was a flash of blue and he felt the ground spinning out from underneath him. With a soft _thump_ he landed moments later on the lush grass outside the grounds of Hogwarts. He looked around at the familiar sights. They weren't quite inside the actual school area, but George felt as if he knew the sights well anyway. He heard groans about him and looked around to see Ron, crumpled on the ground.

"I hate Portkeys," he grumbled, massaging his wrist. "I never could figure out how to land from them."

Hermione gave an exasperated sigh. "I've told you before, Ronald, it's quite simple. Just--"

"'Mione, not now." Hermione surprisingly acquiesced, as the group was marching slowly toward the castle looming in the foreground, and George once again found that unhappy feeling to be residing deep down in his stomach. As they walked, George listened to the conversations of his family, which he was amused to find still resembled those that they had a year ago.

"Bill, _please,_" begged Mrs. Weasley. "Just two inches. That's all! What kind of role model will you be for your child with hair halfway down your back?"  
"Mum, for the last time, no! My child isn't going to care how long my hair is, only you do!"

"Father, you must admit that there is a much brighter future in other departments of the Ministry. The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts is pretty much a close book. I'm sure Kingsley would be more than happy to promote you…"

"I'm sure he would too, son, but that is not intention of mine. Muggles are just too fascinating!"

Angelina stepped to his side and gave him a small smile. Then, as if reading his mind, said, "It's nice to see that some things don't change, no matter what else happens, isn't it?"

He draped an arm around her shoulders. "Yeah, it really is."

* * *

The grounds of Hogwarts were already filled with a sea of people, all dressed in varying degrees of black, even though the actual ceremony didn't start for another few hours. George saw some familiar faces, students from when he went to Hogwarts, or people that he had met since then, but in the light of everything that happened didn't really feel like saying hi. A few little kids would run up to him and ask him about his ear, to which George would reply with varying answers, which either elicited laughter or tears, depending on the child.

The sight of Hogwarts was as familiar to George as the back of his hand—a clichéd expression, but nonetheless true. It had been fully restored to its former glory; there was no trace of the horrible battle that had occurred.

That is, except for the two huge stone walls erected outside the North Tower. The first wall was about ten feet long and six feet tall; the second almost double that. Etched at the top of the first wall was Battle of Hogwarts; may 2, 1998. Below it was written the name of every student, teacher, adult, and even Death Eater that lost their lives exactly one year ago. If you looked closely, you could even make out the name Tom riddle.

The second wrote The first and second wizarding war; 1970-1998. This massive wall was so tightly packed with names that it was hard to pick out one in particular. George keenly remembered the night Harry and Martin Kauffman—who was designing the wall—had discussed how it should be produced. Martin had wanted to put Dumbledore's name in large letters at the top, or perhaps give him his own plaque altogether. Harry had stood firm that it should be no different than the rest.

"In death, we are all equal," he had said. "I know Dumbledore would want it this way." It was also Harry who had insisted that Tom Riddle and all the Death Eater's names be included, much to the shock of the Ministry.

The horde of people surrounding this wall was so thick that George doubted they would ever get through, but upon seeing Harry the crowd parted into two halves as the people stared in awe at Harry. He smiled at them, but George knew hew as exasperated with this excessive treatment. George's eyes began scanning the wall, even as he tried to deny to himself what he was searching for. He could hear Harry and Ginny faintly in the background, pointing to Teddy's parent's names as he continued to look.

"George," a soft voice called him. Angelina's face registered briefly in his eyes as he followed the thin line of her arm to where it was pointing. Fred Weasley. There it was, carved into stone. Inerasable. Irretrievable. Forever. Slowly, George traced his fingers over each letter, as if he could reach his brother once again through the simple fact that this was his name. But he knew it was no use. Fred was long gone.

As they were heading toward the stage and their seats, a bright flash of color caught George's eye, and he turned to see Luna Lovegood walking toward them. Being a year ahead, and leaving Hogwarts before most of the action commenced, George didn't know Luna very well, and her strange antics still made him a little wary. However, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny all seemed thrilled to see her.

"Luna!" they cried out, waving her over.

"Hello!" she beamed at them. They all gave her a bit of a questioning look, though she offered no explanation. She was dressed in bright pink robes, with a matching hat and her typical radish earrings. She stuck out like a sore thumb in the crowd, which, George supposed, was what made her so endearing.

Finally, with a reluctant sigh, Ron asked. "Luna, why are your robes pink?" His face already seemed braced for whatever crazy explanation she would come up with.

She looked at him without blinking, her wide blue eyes serious. "Pink is the favorite color of the Crumple-Horned Snorcack. Daddy said that some were seen in the area!"

The four gave each other a knowing smile. "Luna, are you going to sit with us today?" asked Hermione.

"Well, I thought that was just for people who were, you know, involved in the war."

"Everyone here was involved, Luna." Harry said somberly. "You were part of the D.A., and a friend to all of us. It would mean a lot if you would sit with us."  
Suddenly feeling somehow like he was eavesdropping, George once again walked away, joining up with his mother and father. Mrs. Weasley was already teary, and George could tell this was going to be a difficult evening for her. She patted his hand. "Georgie," she whispered, but didn't finish. It was okay, though, because George knew what she was trying to say. They met up with Andromeda carrying a bright-eyed Teddy, his hair a flaming red that day, making him truly look a part of the clan. Mrs. Tonks was smiling steadily, though George knew what she must be feeling.

"Ted!" cried Harry, picking up his godson and giving him a twirl.

"Haw-ry!" the child squealed in delight. It was already clear the bond forming between the two was strong. It seemed Harry was determined to make up for everything that Teddy had lost.

The grounds were packed. Sitting in the front row with his family, George couldn't even see the outline of the ground floor of Hogwarts. The stage was situated near the bank of the lake, overlooking the magnificently restored castle. People were crowded as close together as possible, and still the huddle stretched far back around the corner and out of sight. Out of the corner of his eye, George could see Harry fidgeting nervously, and Ginny unsuccessfully trying to calm him. George averted his eyes as Ginny kissed Harry softly, finally succeeding in taking his mind of having to speak in front of this imposing crowd.

* * *

George watched as Harry mounted the same platform that had been used for Dumbledore's death—he didn't doubt Harry realized this fact too, which is why he seemed to approach it with even more trepidation. Harry pointed his wand at his throat, and the crowd hushed each other until it was eerily silent, everyone listening intently to Harry's words.

"I spent many nights awake trying to figure out what I was going to say here," Harry began, his voice magically amplified so that the thousands of people that had attended could all hear him. "There's so many things I'd like to tell you, to thank each and every one of you not only for being here today, but for everything you have done in the past year and before.

"I've been known as many things in my life. The Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One, and for the course of a year, a 'disturbed and dangerous boy.' Those are all my past now. I'm just Harry Potter. Just like you. I loved, and I lost. I lost my parent's, my godfather, and some very close friends. I know those wounds won't ever fully heal, and I know yours won't either. That's why we're here. To honor those we lost, and to maybe feel them close to us once again. To remember them, because we are afraid to forget. But let me tell you, they won't ever be forgotten." George looked around him, and saw countless faces dripping with tears, each and every one of them fixed with a sort of intensity on Harry. George was amazed at the eloquence Harry had acquired within the last year, because he didn't believe that the Harry from even a year ago would be able to conjure up words so movingly as this one.

"Dumbledore told me in my first year at Hogwarts that, 'to the well organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.' Most of you know selective bits and pieces of the night Voldemort died, and of my journey before, but I would like to share with you a few pieces that allow me to believe those words are true.

"The truth is, the night Voldemort was killed, I went to him first, planning on dying. I was prepared to die to give you all the chance at peace. You see, Voldemort couldn't die, because a piece of his soul was linked to mine. As long as I lived, so would he. So I went to him, fear turning my chest cold, and didn't even raise my wand as he killed me.

"I say he killed me, even though I am standing here today, because that is what he intended, and he did, except for instead of killing me, he killed the piece of himself inside of me. You all know the story of what happened from then on. That isn't what I want to tell you about. What I want to tell you is what happened between when Voldemort cast the Killing Curse and Hagrid brought me back to Hogwarts. When I awoke, I was in an unfamiliar place, alone. It looked like King's Cross to me. I thought I was dead. Then, Dumbledore was there, just as I remembered him. He explained things to me, some which I am not going to recount. He told me I was not dead, and that because of my actions and Voldemort's mistakes I would be able to finally kill Lord Voldemort. He also told me that in fact it was my choice, to go back or not. I could board the train, as I did think I was at King's Cross, and be done with this world. Be done with its pain and cruelty, and that would be my next big adventure. Though that was not the choice I made, it is how I like to think of those we lost. Not gone from us, but somewhere new, doing the things they never would have got the chance to do here.

"But today isn't about you, me, or any of us. It isn't about the pain we feel, and believe me, I know the pain you feel. Today is about them. Those we are here to honor. Those who lost their lives fighting Voldemort. Fighting for you, and for me. It is because of them that each and every one of us is standing here today. Dumbledore's last words to me were, "Do not pity the dead. Pity the living, and above all, those who live without love." Do not feel sorry for those we lost, and especially do not be afraid to love again, for then we are no better than Lord Voldemort himself. Only by continuing our lives to their fullest can we hope to honor our loved ones who gave their lives so that we might have this chance."

His final words rang out among the silent, awed crowd. Then, as a single unit, they stood and clapped, tears pouring down all their faces as they applauded the boy who lived, even when all the rest of their loved ones didn't. George joined in, his hands clapping of their own accord as Harry's words echoed relentlessly in his head. It was true. All that he had said was true, and George knew now that had the roles been reversed he would have been furious at Fred for having given up as he did, for having taken so long to get his life back on track.

* * *

The sky was darkening, and after an already emotionally taxing day, George found himself following the crowd down to the majestic lake on the grounds of Hogwarts. Angelina was standing beside him again, and he clasped her hand firmly. As they neared the water, George began to see what was going on.

Little wooden boats lined the shore, each filled with a simple wax candle. "Light one for everyone you lost that you wish to remember," they were instructed. George picked up one of the small vessels, and with a flick of his wand lit the candle, and set it on the surface of the deep black water.

Dumbledore.

Moody.

Remus.

Tonks.

Sirius.

Fred.

And the saddest part was, once the last boat was set out upon the lake, hardly an inch of the glossy water could be seen. George stood on the bank of the lake, surrounding by those he loved left to him, his arm wrapped around the one most precious. For a long while, watching the candles flickering in the darkness. Suddenly the silence was pierced by a muffled cry of pain.

George whipped his head around to see Fleur hunched over, he beautiful face contorted in pain and a hand wrapped protectively over her round belly. Bill worriedly gripped her shoulders as the rest of the family hurried around them. Fleur looked at Bill, her cheeks wet.

"It's time."

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**Such ideas coming for the next few chapters, it's gonna be fun! So click that button down there and give me feedback if there is something you want to see coming up, don't want to see, want to change, anything! **

**Much love and thanks! And have a happy Thanksgiving!!  
**


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

**Last update in November?? I am completely ashamed. My promise to you now that I have gotten past my major writer's block is to try to update every month! Hold me to it, readers! **

**As always, a HUGE thanks to everyone who reads, reviews, favorites, and alerts this story. Please do not leave me after this chapter, good things are coming! **

**Input is, as always, appreciated and valued and pretty much makes my day :)  
**

Victoire Weasley was born May 2, 1999 at 11:32 pm. At 7 pounds 6 ounces and 20 inches long, she clearly already possessed her mother's beauty. After having rushed from Hogwarts a few hours before, Bill and Fleur had been ushered into a private room in St. Mungo's, while the horde of Weasley's and friends waited anxiously outside. Molly had been pacing restlessly for the past hour, frantic about the health of her first grandchild.

"Mum, relax," said Charlie for the millionth time. "You had seven kids! You shouldn't be so worried."

"Yes, but Fleur is such a little thing. Oh, dear!" she cried as an especially loud scream echoed around the waiting room.

"Everything is fine, Molly," Mr. Weasley soothed, stroking his wife's hair. "Bill would tell us if something was wrong." She nodded in agreement, but her eyes remained fixed on the door, wide open in anxiety.

George was seated on a plush couch inside the waiting room, staring blankly at the whitewashed wall before him. In all the chaos around him, he was completely still. Angelina came and sat beside him, linking her fingers through his. "How're you doing?" she asked him.

He gave her a half smile. "I think the question is more of how Fleur is doing."

"Maybe. And yet it's you I worry about." She kissed him on the cheek.

He laughed, "I'm a big boy, Ange, I can look after myself."

"Sure you can," she responded sarcastically, smoothing an errant hair on his head. "If you were willing to live off pasta for the rest of your life."

"I can cook more than that!" he protested. Angelina raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"Like what?"

"Er…toast!" She punched him playfully in the side and snuggled closer when he lifted his arm invitingly. They continued their bantering for a few more minutes, until the occasional cries of Fleur in the next room halted and were replaced by that of a wailing infant.

At its first shriek of life the whole family tensed and remained silent, as if one movement and the cry would disappear. Bill opened the door and all the sudden the spell was broken. As a unit they rushed him, demanding answers. How was Fleur? Was the baby okay? Boy or girl? Name?

Bill raised his hand for silence and began to speak, his voice husky with emotion. "_Her _name is Victoire, and she's a perfect, beautiful baby girl. Fleur's resting now, but you can come see the baby."

Mrs. Weasley began sobbing. Mr. Weasley gripped her hand and even let a tear or two escape himself. Charlie raised his wand in the air and pink confetti fell from the ceiling in celebration. Ron looked a little nervous, but Hermione towed him inside. Percy followed them in. Harry and Ginny brought up the rear, their fingers barely touching. He opened the door for her, and looked back at George with sympathetic eyes before entering.

"Come on," Angelina said, nudging him with her elbow.

Inside the small room, nearly the entire family was crowded around the hospital crib in the corner, ooh-ing and ah-ing over the tiny creature inside. Angelina joined them, though George walked over to the hospital bed. Fleur was reclining against the light pink pillows, her blonde hair matted and her face sweaty, with her eyes closed. She was murmuring to Bill, though it seemed as though it was mostly to herself.

"I will 'ave to write to Maman, she will want to come 'ere. And my grandmuzzer, she will want to 'ear about Victoire…"

"Hey, Fleur, how are you?" George asked, looking at Bill and Fleur. Bill had the shining glow of a new father, while Fleur wore the haggard expression of a new mother.

"Oh, tired," she responded with a dismissing wave of her hand. "But don't worry about me. Go, see your niece!"

The word didn't sit right in George's chest, but he went anyway.

Victoire was lying in the bassinet in the corner, surrounded by cooing family members. Her beauty was already apparent—she was obviously her mother's child. However, this was not what George saw. All he saw in her was Fred. Not so much in her looks, though she did have some clear Weasley features, but more in the fact that she was what Fred would never have. His twin would never get a chance to be a father. He would never get to hold a little girl in his arms and promise her the world. This was why George looked around at his family and was filled with an inexplicable loathing, though it shamed him. Hadn't just a few hours ago they been mourning Fred, and other loved ones lost? Now, all seemed forgotten as they reveled around this tiny being. He needed to get away.

He backed away from the hub of excitement almost cautiously, as if not wanting to disturb anything. He felt Bill's eyes on him as he walked through the door, but didn't stop to explain, and Bill didn't pursue him. He walked through the pristine halls of the hospital, unsure of his destination, until he heard footsteps behind him.

"Hey, what was that all about?" Angelina asked, pulling a hand on his shoulder.

"Er, nothing. Just felt a little crowded, I guess." She studied his face, and George knew she didn't believe him, but she didn't ask and he didn't elaborate.

"Well, we should probably head back, they'll wonder where you are." She stared at him strangely. For once, she felt like she couldn't read his emotions.

"Actually, I think I'll just head out."

"Fine. I'll go with you." She lead the way out, stopping briefly at the front desk to ask the receptionist if she would inform the Weasley family of their departure. The stepped outside and, glancing either way first, apparated together, loud cracks announcing their arrival at their flat. They changed into pajamas in silence and climbed into bed, giving each other the briefest kiss. Angelina didn't understand exactly what or why, but something was going on with George.

It's funny how one moment can change things.

The next morning George woke up feeling guilty. For the way he had been so cold to Angelina, yes, but also for his—still lingering—feelings toward his niece. Victoire's arrival had opened the floodgates to the feelings George had finally been coming to terms with. He was falling back into old ways. Could a person have a relapse if they hadn't fully been healed?

There was a rustle beside him as Angelina untangled herself from the sheets. She turned to face him, assessing what mood he might be in, before wriggling close and curling against his side. He draped his arm around her and buried his face in her thick mane of hair. They lay there for a while, not saying anything. It wasn't the same kind of silence, however, that George was accustomed to, where it seemed as if words weren't necessary. It was more like neither were sure what words to say. George often wondered in the future if things would have been different if he had told her right then how he was feeling.

Instead, he gently pulled away from her warm embrace and began pulling on fresh clothes. He cursed as he stumbled while trying to pull on his khakis, tumbling to the ground in a large heap. Angelina regarded him with a somewhat amused glance. He stood with a disgruntled look on his face.

"George," Angelina called as he walked into the kitchen.

"Hold on a sec, Ange!" he called back. He had just tried to turn on the stove, and now it was making a horrible hissing sound, leaving George in a confused state of panic. After a few unsuccessful spells, he finally managed to properly light the stove as Angelina padded into the kitchen, still in her pajamas.

"George," she began again, folding her arms together. "At practice yesterday, Carrie was telling us about this…George? Are you listening?" George's gaze had fixed on the clock behind her head, and she recognized the blank look when he wasn't listening to her.

"Bloody hell, is that the time?" he exclaimed. "I've got a meeting with a client in five minutes!" He quickly grabbed some bread and butter for breakfast, gave her a quick kiss and flew out the door with a fading, "Tell me you're story tonight."

Angelina sighed. She had the apartment to herself for a few hours, she supposed she should feel lucky. Yet this feeling was absent as she walked around the desolate flat. It was all too familiar, even almost ten years later.

Angelina's parents had gotten divorced when she was twelve. She remembered her father rushing out the door. She remembered the words still on her mother's lips. She remembered the disappointed expression worn whenever he didn't stick around long enough to hear them. She remembered the tears. She remembered the silence after he left for good.

The sky had already turned a deep purple when Angelina straggled in from a particularly gruesome Quidditch practice. After four hours of intense strategy, technique and teamwork training, the light had faded, though Carrie insisted on rerunning a play until Angelina and her fellow Chasers, Jackson and Aurora, got it down. Emmett had misaimed a bludger in the dark and ended up hitting Tim in the nose. Luckily Carrie was proficient at first-aid spells, but the ordeal had left Angelina exhausted and not in particularly high spirits. And coming home to find a moody George didn't do anything to raise them.

"What's the matter?" she asked, collapsing into a chair in the living area.

"Bill and Fleur just floo'd…Said they were in the neighborhood and are going to drop by for a bit," he replied, disgruntled.

"And this makes you mad because…?" she prompted, trying to uncover the secret code that was George.

"It's just--" he halted abruptly at a loud knock on the door. "Come in," he called, managing to mask the reluctance in his voice.

Fleur breezed into the room. All traces of her exhausted state from yesterday were gone. She was glamorous and perfect once again, and Angelina could have almost laughed. In her arms Victoire was wrapped tightly in a silky pink blanket. Bill followed, the glow of fatherhood still lingering on his features.

"Allo!" Fleur called merrily, kissing Angelina on both cheeks.

"Motherhood seems to be agreeing with you, Fleur."

She gave a radiant smile. "What eez not to like?" I 'ave a wonderful baby girl, a perfect 'usband. Nothing is missing." Bill wrapped an arm around her waist. George, however, looked mutinous.

"That's great," Angelina enthused, while shooting George a sideways glance.

"Well, we didn't mean to interrupt anything," Bill said, talking pointedly to George, "Really we just wanted to thank you for coming to the hospital. It meant a lot to us."

Angelina gave a reassuring smile. "We were glad to do it. Right, George?" With a forced smile, he nodded in agreement.

"We'll be off then," Bill continued. "Wanted to drop by Percy's before heading home."

Angelina waved and escorted them out the door. When she was sure they were out of hearing range, she closed the door softly and turned to face George.

"Alright," she said. "What the hell was that?"

"It's nothing."

"Don't give me that," she said angrily. "You know perfectly well its something. They're your family! And you couldn't have been more rude."

"You wouldn't understand," George responded bitterly, his knuckles turning white from his viselike grip on the edge of the counter.

"You're right, I don't!" retorted a frustrated Angelina, throwing her hands up in the air. "Please, enlighten me!"

"No—I mean, you _can't _understand. That's the thing! No one can understand what I feel right now! It disgusts me how they can be so happy with their little baby when all I can think about is how she has taken the empty space that Fred used to fill! And it sickens me that I feel that way, but I _can't help it_. No one can understand it, not even you, because you have never lost someone as close to you as Fred was to me!"

"You don't think I know that?" she responded, her voice choked. "You don't think I know the hole he has left in you? 'Cause trust me, I do. You aren't the only one who has felt pain, George. But you are the only one wallowing in self-pity! Don't you understand how much it hurts me to see you like this? How it makes me feel that I can't take away your pain, fill up the holes that Fred left?" George cringed at the use of his twin's name. "It's _killing _me, George! Little by little, every day. And I don't think I can do it anymore!" George could see the tears sparkling in her eyes now, spilling slightly over the edge. Her cheeks were flushed, and her hair was wild. The sight of her almost made George's heart want to break, but he had gotten used to holding his emotions at bay.

"Then go!" he shouted, turning his back forcefully on her.

"But I—" Angelina's voice cracked as she tried to respond, finding no words coming to her as George abruptly left the room, slamming the bedroom door behind him. He threw himself down face first on their bed, absolutely silent until he heard the soft sound of the front door closing, and he knew she had really gone. Then he let the tears come.


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

**Thank you everyone for reviewing and such! I promised to get another chapter out in April, and voila! I'm ahead of schedule :) **

**I'm planning between 10-15 more chapters here... Wouldn't it be great if it reached 100 reviews by then? **

**Also, my next Harry Potter story is going to be about Teddy and Victoire! I was going to wait until I was done with this one, but I probably won't so be on the lookout! **

**Thanks again and keep reviewing!

* * *

  
**

"I don't know what happened, he won't tell me," Mrs. Weasley whispered to the small group huddled into the corner of the Burrow. She, Mr. Weasley, Bill and Charlie had been discussing George for the past 10 minutes, thinking he was well out of hearing range. They had obviously forgotten about Extendable Ears.

"She left, that's all I know," Bill continued. "Fleur and I had just visited—Oh Merlin, I hope we didn't have anything to do with it—and we heard them arguing after we left. They both got quite loud."

"He doesn't seem too upset though. It's nothing like with Fred…" Mr. Weasley rationed.

"I dunno," pondered Charlie, "I think he's keeping a lot from us. I bet my broomstick he's hurting more than he shows."

They were getting dangerously close to the truth, and George couldn't stand it anymore. With a start he stood up, pulled out the Ears and hid them safely in his pocket. Walking loudly so his family would have time to act as though they hadn't been talking about him, he entered the living area.

"Well, I think I'll be off."

Mrs. Weasley hastily stood and gripped his hands. "Georgie, wait just a moment. Please, won't you just talk? Just tell us what's wrong."

"Mum, nothing's wrong," he responded through gritted teeth.

"But, you aren't acting like yourself!" she protested.

"How's that? I'm going to work, aren't I? I'm talking, aren't I? I'm not drinking, either. Mum, _I'm not depressed._" It was true to some extent. On the outside, George Weasley put on the perfect masquerade. He went about his daily routine as usual, with even more vigor. For instead of falling into the toxic slump like after Fred's death, George had decided to channel his despair into his work and his family. Business was booming, and he had visited his family every day for the past week, yet he had never felt less content. Though he wasn't about to let them know this.

"But, George! It's Angelina! She—"

George cut her off, unable to bear hearing about her. "It just didn't work out, okay? It's not like she's the only girl out there for me. It's not like…not like I'll never find someone like her…" _It's not like I'll never love again. _He was lying through his teeth now; each word seemed to be tearing at his heart.

He cleared his throat. "Right," he said thickly. "I'm leaving." He pulled his hand from his mothers grip, gave a cordial nod to his father and brothers, and walked out to the door, the harsh sunlight streaming into his eyes. His breathing was ragged as he walked up the hill. He knew he could have disapparated, but the cool breeze helped clear his head.

"George!" called a voice behind him. Charlie's brawny figure was jogging up to join him, and with a sigh George stopped and waited.

Before his brother could say anything, George began, "Look—Charlie, I appreciate it and everything, but I don't want to talk about it."

Charlie shrugged. "Fine. That's not why I came, actually. Can we sit somewhere?"

George gestured to the wide expanse of grass around them, and they both took a seat. He was vaguely reminded of all the times growing up when the seven of them would sit out here under the warm sun and stare at the sky, each lost in their own dreams.

"Why did you come, then?" he asked.

"I wanted to tell you a story," Charlie replied.

George grinned. "Is it a scary story? 'Cause, you know, I don't think you can handle that…"

"Shut it!" Charlie laughed as they both remembered a Halloween party from years ago, where Charlie had been so frightened of a ghost story that he had had nightmares for weeks.

Charlie's face grew serious, though, as he stared at his brother. "No, it's not scary…" his voice seemed distant, and George had an eerie feeling he was about to hear something Charlie had never told anyone.

"Do you remember, a few years ago, how I didn't come home for a really long while? Didn't send any owls or anything, either."

"Yeah, Mum was so angry at you, I thought she was going to murder you when you finally came home," George answered.

He nodded. "I still feel bad about that. But, see, I had a reason. One that makes it so I can understand _exactly _what you're going through right now." George stared at his brother, confused and curious. Charlie inhaled deeply and began his tale.

"Her name was Hazelle. She came to work in Romania with the dragons, like me. We met about five years ago now. She had wavy, brown hair and green eyes flecked with brown. Her lips were bright and she was constantly smiling, a sweet, contagious smile that to this day I haven't forgotten. She was courageous and intelligent and beautiful, everything I could have ever wanted. I loved her.

"We were assigned to the same dragon—an abandoned, baby Chinese Fireball we were supposed to take care of until it could take care of itself. I had been watching for her for some time now, and I'll admit I was more than happy to get the chance to spend some time with her. We had the best conversations. Hazelle was fascinating. She had lived all over the world—Paris, New York, Sydney, to name a few—and had such strong views on culture and politics. She was impossible to argue with." Charlie smiled fondly at some memory he chose not to share. "She never changed her mind, but I would have spend the whole day trying, just to spend time with her.

"For three months I tried to work up the courage to ask her on a date, but I always figured she'd say no. A girl like her, I thought, probably had countless guys going after her, and I didn't want things to be awkward if she shot me down. Well, one day we were up late working on some paperwork. I'd been stealing glances at her for the past hour. Even after a full day out in the field, her hair tangled and windblown, dirt smudged on her face, she was beautiful. She caught me staring though, and walked over to me. I thought she was finally going to call me on my inappropriate crush, but instead, she said to me, 'Charlie, are you ever going to ask me out?' I was so shocked I just stared blankly at her. I couldn't find words. She sighed, as if to say, 'Do I have to do everything myself?' and leaned in to kiss me.

"The next year was the happiest of my life. We were inseparable, Hazelle and I. I knew every little thing about her. Her mannerisms, her expressions, the lilts of her speech that indicated her mood. I could pick out her laugh in a crowd of people. She was my world. For that one year we lived in bliss, but the cracks in our relationship started showing. We started fighting constantly, and one day, she left." Charlie paused, and George was at a loss to see a tear streak down his older brother's cheek. "We had just had our biggest fight yet, it doesn't even matter what it was about now. It was so stupid. She packed a bag and left, and I didn't follow.

"When I got to work the next day I found out she had quit. It's cliché to say it, but I felt as if some part of me was missing. I kept fantasizing I heard her laugh, or heard her call my name, but it was never true. I wanted to make things right, but I was too proud, or too much of a coward, to find her and admit I was wrong. So, like the stupid man I am, I did nothing, knowing full well that I would never find a girl like her in a million years.

"I saw her again, a few months back. She was on the arm of some other man, an engagement ring glittering on her fingers. She didn't see me. She was happy, and I still loved her enough to let her be. And so now here I am, without the only person I loved. But lucky for you I am _not _going to let you make the same mistake."

George stared blankly at his brother for a few tense moments. He was thinking how strange it was that you could think you knew someone so well but be completely oblivious to something that defined them. _She packed her bags…She left…I didn't follow…_The pain of his brother's words still rang in George's ears. He remembered how he felt when he came home from work one day to find Angelina's closet empty. As if his world was caving in. He hadn't talked to anyone, because it hurt too much. He understood the effort this must have been for Charlie.

They stared at each other for a moment, and George realized how much he had missed his brother. Sure, they had seen each other, but George had never really _been _there. Fred's death had blinded George to his remaining brothers, driving a wedge between them. They had once been such a gregarious gang, and now it seemed as if they hardly knew each other. George vowed to change this.

"So help me George, I will make you go because I have already failed one brother, and I'm not going to fail you too!"

George knew Charlie was right. He _had _to go after her. He couldn't even contemplate an alternative. The thought of seeing Angelina happy with another man was too much for him to bear. So when his brother reached out to pull him into a hug, George was nodding fiercely.

* * *

**So I had always wondered why Charlie had never gotten married, nor had any mention of a girlfriend been made in the books when for all the other brothers it had. Which is why I came up with my own explanation. It fit in perfectly, and I really wanted to explore Charlie's character a bit more because I've always liked him a lot :)**


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

**So I promised an update a month, and here it is! Cutting it close... I've actually had this written since the beginning of May, but I wasn't happy with it. I made some changes that hopefully made it better, but let me know what you think! Thanks! **

**Read, Review, Enjoy!  
**

George left Charlie sitting forlornly on the grassy hillside. He knew that at this moment all his brother wanted was to be alone with his memories. Meanwhile, a fire seemed to have been lit in George's soul that wiped away the apathy he had been feeling the past weeks. He would find Angelina: that much was clear. The how was a bit more challenging. George had no idea where she might be, and when he thought of all the places Angelina might have gone, he realized shamefully that he had never met her either of her parents and so had no idea how to contact them.

Best friends were a close second after parents, so George left the sunny hillside of the Burrow and Apparated into the crowded and noisy streets of London. George was hustled by the crowd as he tried to make his way across the street to Alicia Spinnet's apartment, hoping she knew where Angelina had gone. The building was very obviously Muggle-inhabited, and George wondered slightly at her choice of living there. Most often witches and wizards lived in a close proximity to each other. Birds of a feather flock together, or something like that, George thought. However, George didn't know any other magical folk that lived nearby.

George rang the buzzer twice impatiently, bouncing slightly on his heels in anticipation. "Who is it?" Alicia's voice rang out from what looked to George like a metal box, making him jump in surprise.

Not sure who he was talking to, George replied, "Er…George Weasley."  
"Hang on, I can't hear you…Never mind, it's open. Come on up." There was a third loud buzz and when George tried the door it opened easily. Alicia's flat was on the second floor facing on opposite side of the street. He knocked gently on the door, and Alicia opened it immediately, words already on her lips.

"Sorry, the buzzer doesn't always work…" she trailed off as she recognized George, her eyes gaining a menacing look as she closed the door slightly. "George," she stated. "What do you want?"

George was a bit taken aback. He and Alicia had always gotten along rather well. "Er, hi to you too Alicia." She just stared at him. "Look, I was wondering if you knew where Angelina is."  
"Yes, I do."

"So…will you tell me?"

Alicia sighed and stepped outside the door, closing it softly but firmly behind her. "I don't know."

"How do you not know?" George protested angrily.

"You have to understand, George. You hurt her. And as her best friend, what I really should do right now is hex you and tell you to keep away. But I've always liked you, George, and I think you are good for Ange." She paused, biting her lip. "But I don't want to see Angelina get hurt again. She's already been through so much. I know you have too," Alicia added hastily, holding out her hands to cut George off. "And that's why I think you are good for each other. Still, I don't want her hurt, and more specifically, I don't want you hurting her."

"Alicia, I'm going to set this right. I was a selfish jerk, I know. I have been a wreck this past while, and I'm not going to the make the mistake of letting her go. So please, Alicia. _Please._ Where is she?"

Alicia sighed, giving in, and George could've kissed her in glee. "There was a Quidditch invitational at six tonight. Chudley Canons, Wimbourne Wasps, Berlin Banshees…hosted by the Parisian Pixies. She left yesterday."

George took a moment to process this. "So…She's in _Paris?_" Alicia nodded. George swore under his breath. He remembered his family's trip to Egypt a few years back. Although it might seem possible, wizards couldn't just apparate into other countries. There was a process, one that George desperately didn't want to take the time to do. "Right…" he muttered. "Well, thanks Alicia. I promise I won't let you down."

She smiled and gave him a quick, friendly hug. "Good luck, George."

George strode quickly down the street to where he could see the visitor's entrance to the Ministry of Magic. The Department of Magical Transportation, located on level six, already was host to a large crowd when George arrived. Three harried looking wizards stood at the head of the mob, trying to keep the line organized and moving, to no avail. He grabbed the first man he saw in official robes and asked, "What's with the line?"

The man shrugged, looking a bit irritated at having been taken from him task. "It's summer. People want to go on vacation. There's a Quidditch invitational. What do you expect?" George grimaced at the mention of Quidditch.

"How long is this going to take?"

The man appraised the crowd. "Could be a few hours…"

George cursed. "Isn't there any way to get there faster?"

The man sighed. "Look, I really need to get back to my work." George started to turn away dejectedly. "However, I can see that I know you fought in the Battle of Hogwarts, so…" he said, eyeing George's ear. "Do you have family…wherever you're going?"

"Paris," George said. He was about to answer no, he had no family in France, when a sudden thought struck him. "Yes, yes I have family! Er…In-laws, at least."

The man nodded. "As long as they are expecting you and you aren't planning a visit longer than three days, I'll okay your paperwork."

"I don't have any paperwork."

The man winked and walked away, giving George a quick pat on the shoulder on his way.

As George had no way to contact the Delacours, he knew he'd have to go to Fleur. As he turned the corner for a secluded spot to apparate, he realized this was a golden opportunity. He'd be able to kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.

Bill and Fleur were already in the yard outside, cooing over an adorable Victoire, who was snuggled safely in Fleur's arms. They had both abandoned their heavy wizard robes in favor of lighter, Muggle attire. They glanced up as he approached, surprise mirrored on each of their faces. He hadn't ignored either of them when they saw each other at the Burrow, but he hadn't gone out of his way to be friendly either. George turning up at their house, unannounced and for no known reason, was surely the last thing they expected.

"George!" Fleur said, recovering first. "What a nice surprise. 'Ow are you?" Bill shot her a quick look as if to say _How do you think he is? _George answered honestly, however.

"Pretty terrible, to tell you the truth. Look," he said, pulling up a chair from one of the patio tables off to the side. "I've been wanting to apologize. I was, well, basically an idiot. I guess I wasn't quite ready for the idea of another family member when it still seems to me like I just lost Fred. Still, I feel awful for not being more supportive, and I promise now I am going to be the best uncle I can be." George wasn't really accustomed to apologies like this, and the words felt strange on his tongue. He thought they sounded scripted—which, actually, they weren't.

"Oh, George," Fleur cried. Still cradling Victoire in her arms, she leaned over to kiss him on both cheeks. "We forgive you, _bien s__ûr__."_ George smiled gratefully at her. However, he knew Fleur's demeanor was forgiving, and it was more his brother he was worried about.

Bill stood up and clapped Fred into a tight hug. "Welcome back, bro," he said, voice filled with emotion.

"You're…you're not mad?" George asked.

"Of course not," Bill said, with Fleur shaking her head vigorously with him. "George, we know this past year has been even harder than you than the rest of us. And no matter what, I'll always be your brother. No matter how irritating you might be," he continued with a grin. "I'll always love you. Now, speaking as your brother, I have some advice for you…"

"I know, I know. That's actually the other reason I came here. See, Angelina is actually in Paris right now…" he quickly filled them in. "And since you're just visiting family you can get in easily, I was hoping…"

"Of course, of course!" Fleur said, passing off Victoire to Bill. "I will go tell Maman now to expect you. It will be no problem, I am sure." She bustled off into the house, a big smile on her face. Bill stared lovingly after her.

"Loves a good love story, Fleur does," he said with a grin.

"So, this is Victoire," George said. Of course he had seen her before, but he'd never really looked at her. Even at just about two weeks old she was clearly Fleur's daughter, and part vela. Her few hairs were a bright blonde, and her wide eyes a deep blue. "Can I hold her?" Bill passed his daughter gently into George's arms. George was surprised at how light she was, and how comfortable it felt to have her in his arms.

"She's beautiful, Bill," George commented. Bill beamed, radiating a proud father glow.

"Look, George. I'm so happy you are going after Angelina. But that's not the only advice I was going to give you." George looked up from Victoire, and noticed the slight trace of pain masked behind his brother's dark eyes. "Don't cut us out, George. We're you're family—we want to help you through this, if you will let us. We _have _to help each other through this, because we are the only ones who know what it feels like. Mum's a wreck. She thinks she's going to lose you, too, and truthfully George I don't think she could handle it. None of us could. You might think you hurt the most, and maybe in some ways its true. Fred was your twin." Bill's hands were clenched into tight fists, pain etched clearly across his face. "But he was my little brother, and I _should have protected him._" Bill broke off, choking the last through words out while trying to control his emotions. George stared at him, shocked for a moment in disbelief.

"Bill, there…there wasn't anything you could have done." George had never recognized the blame his older brothers had felt. He realized then that this was what Bill was talking about. He had been so self-absorbed he hadn't taken the time to even see how his brothers were feeling.

Bill smiled sadly at him. "Does it make you feel any better if I were to tell you it wasn't your fault he died, either?"

George sighed. "No." He stared intently at a freckle to the left of Victoire's nose; desperately trying to hold back the emotions he had so carefully constructed a wall against. No matter what they had just shared, George didn't want to cry in front of his older, strong brother. Bill seemed to sense this.

"You know, when Fred died, I cried for a day straight. And when they put my baby girl in my arms for the first time, I cried as if I was the baby. Hell, just yesterday Fleur was reading me some story from the _Prophet_ about a son and father finally reunited after twenty years and I teared up! Crying doesn't make you weak, George," he said, clasping a large hand around his shoulder. "It just means we're strong enough to face our emotions."


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

**I know it's been forever! Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about this story! I've literally been delaying writing this chapter forever, and then after I wrote it delayed actually updating it for as long as I could think of excuses. I'm still not quite sure I even like it...I have such good ideas for the future, though! So please go easy on me for this one chapter, which is necessary to get to better ones. **

**Love as always to those who review, and add as favorite/alert. Keep it up, please :) **

George spun into view in the Delacours fireplace moments after his parting words with Bill. Apolline, whom he'd only met once at the wedding, was waiting for him, and clapped her hands together when he stumbled out of the fire.

"George," she crowed in her thick accent. "It is so good to see you," she added, kissing both his cheeks twice. "I am sorry there is not a better reception, Fleur gave us such short notice! I 'ope you do not mind…"

"Don't worry about it, Mrs. Delacour. I hope this wasn't any trouble, I just needed to get here fast. In fact, I really should be on my way." He knew it was irrational to think that ten minutes would be the difference between a life with Angelina or without her, but he couldn't help feeling that the sooner he reached her the better.

"Ah, of course. Fleur told me. You are going to ze girl, _oui_?"

George smiled patiently. "Sure am. Er, could you tell me where the Quidditch Stadium is?" George checked his watch impatiently. Five. That gave him about an hour before the match started. But less than that to reach Ange, because once warm-ups started he doubted there was any way he could get to her.

"Of course! Eet is just outside ze 20th _arrondissement. _Look for a sign that says '_Attention! __Zone de travaux!'_" The corners of her mouth twitch up. "Ze Muggles have not realized it has been a construction zone for twenty years now."

George chuckled a little. "What's the best way to get there?" George was proficient at Apparating, but didn't quite feel comfortable trying to Apparate to a spot he'd never seen in a foreign country. Luckily, Mrs. Delacour held out her arm to him.

"I can guide you, if you wish."

Without a moments hesitation he gripped her thin arm and with a crack they were gone. When he felt solid ground under his feet again, George opened his eyes and took in his surroundings in the bustling city of Paris. Even on the very outskirts of it, George recognized its beauty.

"Zat way to the Quidditch Stadium," Apolline said, pointing down a street. "I would go with you, but Gabrielle will be 'ome soon…"

George quickly kissed her cheek once more. "No, this is perfect. Thanks so much. Er…_Merci!_" And took off down the street.

The road trailed off toward the right a few blocks in, and, feeling like he needed to remain toward the left to continue in the direction Apolline pointed, George took a different road, which ended up leading him in a twisting path until George was hopelessly lost and certain he'd never make it now. George silently cursed himself for trusting his own instincts instead of Apolline's crystal clear directions. It was already five thirty. The warm-ups were started now, no doubt. He'd have to wait for who knows how long after the game now.

George continued taking random streets, trying to get back at least to where he had once been. About twenty minutes later, he let out a shout of triumph as he recognized the sign Mrs. Delacour had been talking about. After he got a few steps closer, the construction sight melted into a huge stadium, and George could already hear the shouts of the crowd.

He picked up his pace to a run, stopping only long enough to buy a ticket.

"How much?" he asked hurriedly.

"At the door fee is fifteen galleons," said the witch sitting inside indifferently. George didn't even comment about how ridiculously marked up this was. He gave her the money and quickly grabbed his ticked before heading inside the building.

The hallways were virtually empty as he made his way through them to find his seat, a good enough sign that the game was just about to start. Sure enough, when he left the dark tunnel leading to the seating area the players had already mounted their brooms and were positioned in the sky, the ref's whistle in his mouth. With a sharp sound they were off, and George vaguely recognized Angelina's dark figure darting in and amongst the players. She had the Quaffle tucked under her arm and was already speeding off toward the opposing teams goals.

With what George thought was an extremely well placed throw, Angelina hurled the Quaffle, but the French Keeper was too good. He deflected her shot with the back end of his broom, to the cheers of the fans below. One of the Parisian Chasers now had the Quaffle. She was very good and managed to make it through the center hoop in a clever fake.

So they game went for fifteen or so minutes as George watched, transfixed, on the sidelines. George was impressed with Angelina's performance. He'd been to a few of her practices, and of course they'd played on the same team for years, but he had never seen her play quite like this. She seemed to anticipate the other players' ideas before they could execute them, and managed to steal thirty points for the Canons. Unfortunately, it was clear that as a team they were outmatched, justified by the scoreboard, which unmistakably displayed 80-30.

It happened in an instant. So fast most of the crowd missed it. Angelina was zooming off with the Quaffle. With a clever feint she made it past the Keeper and had a clear shot at the goal. She was so focused she didn't bother to check over her shoulder, but George did. He saw the Beater swing his bat back, eyes locked right on Angelina. He knew what was about to happen a split second before it did, for it's exactly what he would have done. George was forced to watch, rendered completely useless, as he smacked the bludger at her, heard the sickening crack as sit met its mark of Angelina's head, and saw her tumble off her broom, inches away from the goal, and fell at an alarming speed to the ground.

"ANGE!" George roared. The Medic Wizards were already prepared on the side, and cushioned her fall with a charm and were already carrying her, unconscious, off field as George began to frantically push through the crowd to reach her.

After harassing several unaware staff members at the stadium, he was able to find the first aid station, where he got it a heated argument with the attendant outside.

"You HAVE to let me in!" he shouted.

"Sir, I cannot let anyone in. You will 'ave to wait until ze game is over."

"But she's my girlfriend! Can't you see? I need to make sure she's okay!"

The man waiting at the door stayed resolutely in front of the door. Luckily, George's shouting attracted someone's attention on the inside.

"Did I 'ear you say you are 'er boyfriend?" the woman asked. Her robes were embroidered with the title 'Docteur' and George was relieved to finally see someone who might have tended to Angelina.

"Yes, so can you please let me in to see her?" he asked, desperately this time.

"Follow me." George followed the woman down a corridor until she stopped in front of a door about halfway down the hall. "She is fine, don't worry." George released the sigh he had been holding. "I will leave you for a moment, then I will talk to both of you."

George nodded and dully thanked her, his hand already on the door handle. His heart was pounding suddenly, and a thousand questions were roaring in his head. What if she didn't want him back? What if she was too angry with him still?

Still, with trepidation George pushed open the door. His heart leapt as he saw Angelina. She was laying on a bed, one of the uncomfortable looking ones he'd seen in St. Mungo's. Her eyes were closed and he watched her for a moment breathing deeply. He searched her face for any sign of injury, but it seemed she had already been patched up.

He stood there for a moment, completely at a loss for were so many things he wanted to say to her, namely an apology, but all that came out was, "Are you okay?"

She sighed in exasperation, her eyes still closed. "Yes, I'm fine. I could go play again because Danny's in now and he's —" she halted abruptly, and George watched her slowly open her eyes and turn to face him.

"_George?_" she asked incredulously.

Before she could utter another room George was at her side. He pulled her into his arms and buried his face into her black hair, which conveniently disguised the tears that were leaking from his eyes. "Ange, oh Ange," he whispered, feeling the sobs shaking her in his arms. "I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. I should never..I mean..I just…I love you, Ange."

He pulled back to look at her. His eloquence seemed to have been robbed from him as he stared into her deep brown eyes. None of the brilliant apologies he had practiced had come to him. He simply wanted to stare at her forever. To hold her in his arms and never let go. Words didn't seem to be enough to explain to her how sorry he was, and how much he wanted her back.

But Angelina seemed to understand. As tears were washing down her own face she leaned in to kiss him. There would be a long conversation later, George was sure. Many questions asked and answered, but for now, he let himself sink into that kiss, making up for lost time.

"You came back," she whispered. Her clutch on his shoulders was so tight George was feeling a stinging pain from her fingernails, but didn't even want her to let go.

"Of course I did, Ange. I was an idiot before."

"I was, too. I should never have left. I was just mad and not thinking straight and…" she trailed off as the doctor walked back into the room. Angelina pulled apart from George, but he kept a tight grip on her hand, unwilling to be entirely separated from her.

The doctor looked shock at the tears on their faces, and, misinterpreting them, said, "But she eez fine! Don't worry, it was just a concussion. We fixed it right away." They both smiled and nodded thankfully, for this was much easier than explaining what had actually just happened.

"'Owever, zere is something else I need to talk to you both about." She observed them for a moment, her eyes squinting slightly as she stared intently. "Well, I believe congratulations are in order, Miss Johnson, Mr. Weasley. You are going to be parents."


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

**The end of this chapter gave me no end of difficulties. I wasn't quite sure how I wanted it to end, and I feel like I've spent hours staring at my wall going over the possibilities. This is the end result of my frustration! Hope you all enjoy it. **

**Side anecdote...So I have 3 stories going, this one, one for City of Bones and one for the Hunger Games. For the past few days the reviews have been 33, 44, and 55! Probably nobody cares, but I found that amusing and wanted to share it before I update this and it changes. **

**Thanks everyone for the support!  
**

George stared blankly at the doctor, completely frozen in shock. "_What?_" he gasped. He had stood when the doctor entered, but now felt as though his legs wouldn't support him. He sank back onto the bed and let his head fall into his hands.

The doctor gave Angelina, who still looked as if the wind had been knocked out of her, a sympathetic look. "I take it then you were not expecting zis," she said kindly. Angelina barely shook her head. George was still too distressed to say anything.

"I will give you time alone." And she left.

Angelina's hands were on his shoulders, trying to pry his head up, but he didn't want to have to face her right now. "George, George," she pleaded, her voice sounding dangerously close to tears again. "Please, George. It's going to be okay."  
He stood up abruptly, shaking her hands off him as he turned to face her. "How, Angelina? Please tell me how!"  
Angelina curled her knees up to her chin and hid her face. She was muttering something, and it took George a moment to realize she was saying, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

George's harassed face softened as he walked over to her and gently patted her back. "No, Ange. Don't be sorry. This is…this is a…good thing." He bit his lip, trying to keep from screaming at what kind of twisted joke this was.

Angelina looked up at him, tears streaking down her face. "You don't look happy," she choked out.

"It's just…I can't _be _a father!" he cried. "How in the bloody hell am I supposed to take care of my own baby when I couldn't even be an uncle to Victoire?"

Angelina pulled him onto the bed next to him and slipped under his arm. For a few minutes they sat there in silence, both lost in their own thoughts.

"He's not ever going to have this." George whispered, almost to himself.

Angelina didn't need to ask to know who he was talking about. "I know," she murmured back.

"When does it stop hurting?" he asked, almost begging.

"I don't know, George," she replied sadly. "Maybe it never does. Maybe the best we can ever do is keep living life to the fullest, even if there's a little part of us that feels like it's bleeding out ever bit of happiness we have."

George pulled Angelina closer. This was one of the things he loved about her. She never tried to make him feel better with transparent lies. She told the truth, as blunt and painful as it might be at the moment, it always made him feel better in the long run. They sat there together for George didn't know how long, until he had gained his composure. Then, he turned her to face him.

He smiled at her—a genuine smile, not forced—and placed a hand on her stomach. "That's our kid in there, Ange."

She smiled back at him and placed her hand over his. "Yours and mine."

"I like the sound of that," George laughed, pulling her in and giving her a sweet kiss. "Well, Mum'll be thrilled to plan another wedding. I suppose it's best to just let her have free reign, she'll never forgive us if we don't."

"Wait, who said anything about a wedding?" Angelina asked.

George stared at her incredulously. "But of course we're getting married, Ange!"

"Says who?" she asked, a dangerous edge in her voice.

"Says…says me!" George stuttered.

"Well I think I have a pretty big say in that too, don't I?"

"Of course you do, Ange. But don't you want to marry me?" George tried to make his voice sound hurt. Angelina laughed.

"What kind of a proposal is that, George? You're going to have to work harder than that!"

George pulled away from her and sunk to his knee. "Angelina Marie Johnson. I love you more than anything else on this planet. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I'm so happy we're starting our family together. Will you please do me the immense honor of becoming my wife?"

Angelina giggled and kissed his nose. "It's a start, but I think you can do better."

"Is that a yes or a no, then?" George demanded.

"It's an 'ask again later.'"

George was about to protest further when the door swung open and Carrie barged in, accompanied by a Chaser George recognized as Jackson. He didn't like the look he saw in the man's eyes when he saw George with Angelina. George caught Angelina's hand in his once again as Carrie began to talk.

"Glad to see you're okay, Ange!" she exclaimed. "That was a nasty hit. Got us all a bit worried, but you recover fast. George! Good to see you too. Glad you two finally saw the errors of your ways. She was pretty miserable without you, George. Team couldn't stand to be around her, quite frankly." Angelina laughed.

"How'd we do?" Ange asked.

"Lost, of course. It was to be expected, though. The Parisians are one of the best teams in the league! Danny was rubbish compared to you, Angelina. Still, he didn't do too badly. Managed to get a couple goals, believe it or not. Too bad the Pixies got about two for every one of ours. And they caught the snitch. Ended up 320-110. Not too shabby, for our first real game."

"That's great. I wish I could've been there to see the rest."

"I think we would've had a shot if you'd finished the game, Ange," Jackson stated, giving her a sweet smile.

Angelina laughed. "Sure, we would have. When I got hit they were already up by 50!"

"Well, at least we wouldn't have been beaten so bad. I guess there's always next game."

George eyed Angelina. They both knew she wouldn't actually be playing any more games this season, but she gave him a look as if to say, _Later_.

"The whole teams waiting outside, they all want to see how you're doing. Some snooty man outside said only three visitors at once, and since George was already here only Jackson and I could come. We're having an after-game party, you coming?"

Angelina shook her head. "I'll come say hi to everyone, but then George and I are going out."

Jackson looked disgruntled, but Carrie laughed. "I got it. Can't separate the lovebirds. Alright, well let's go then."

The four of them walked outside the room together into the cramped hallway filled with Angelina's teammates. They were all thrilled to see she was okay and commenced in giving her a play-by-play recount of the game. George got a warm welcome, too. He had become a favorite at the team gatherings—when he was in a good mood—for his quick humor.

"Alright, clear off everyone!" called Carrie after a few minutes. "Angelina and George are leaving now." The crowd parted and Angelina and George walked forward, Carrie accompanying them. "See you next game, then, right?" she asked.

Angelina looked distressed. "Carrie, I need to talk to you about that." Angelina explained why she would not be returning to the team. Carrie was disappointed, of course, but also ecstatic for the two of them. "Congratulations!" she crowed. "You'll keep visiting, right? We won't want to lose touch. I'll tell the rest of the team, don't worry. And your spot on the team will be waiting next season. That is, if you still want it."

Angelina smiled. "I think I will." George nodded in agreement. He knew how much she loved Quidditch, and was going to do whatever it took to make sure she was able to play next season. "But I'll try out, like everyone else. There might be someone a lot better than me out there!" Carrie laughed and rolled her eyes, gave both of them a quick hug, and then left them alone.

Angelina and George walked, intertwined hands swinging between them, down the bustling streets of Paris. "Hmm," George said. "Two young people, in love, in Paris, _la ville de l'amour_…what shall we do?"

Angelina giggled at his terrible French accent. She looked around for a moment, taking in the view of the beautiful city surrounding her. In every direction there was something to see, it was almost dizzying. She looked up and just caught the twinkling lights of the Eiffel Tower before the sweet scent of crepes from a nearby stand wafted their way, causing her stomach to grumble audible.

She grinned. "Let's eat."

They browsed a few restaurants along the street, each with their own charm, finally settling on a small, family owned restaurant. A sweet old woman escorted them inside and sat them down in a cramped corner. There is little rrom in the restaurant—the chairs and tables seem barely to fit in the allotted space, resulting in an almost dangerous journey to reach the table and sit down, but the atmosphere is pleasant. The woman hands them menus, and begins to speak to them in rapid French.

"Oh…er, _pas de __français_, please." George said with an apologetic grin.

"Ah, English," she replies, but with a smile instead of scorn. "'Ow may I 'elp you? A glass of wine, per'aps?"

"None for her," George said, reaching to grip Angelina's hand over the table.

"Of course! You are with child, _ma cherie?_"

A blush crept into Angelina's face. "How'd you know?"

The woman wagged a finger amiably. "A mother always knows. I 'ave three daughters, each with children of 'er own. Besides, you are aglow!"

Angelina laughed. "Well, thanks. I can't read any of this, so just bring me whatever your favorite dish is."

"Make that two," George added.

The woman hurried away to place their order, stopping to say _bonjour_ to a few customers on the way. "What if we get escargot?" George asked.

"Then we eat it!"

George shook his head, chuckling. "You're braver than me, Ange. I don't think I could eat snails."

Angelina laughed, but then bit her lip anxiously. "I think you're braver than me, George," she whispered. "You were brave enough to come here. I was too scared you were serious when you told me to go." There were tears in her eyes again, and George wanted nothing more than to go into the past and wallop his former self for creating this mess.

"I'll always want you, Angelina. That day, I pretty much hit rock bottom. I'd thought I was over all this grief, and then it just hit me after I saw Victoire. Chock it up to the famous Weasley temper," he said with a sad smile. "I never really meant for you to go. I…I thought you would come back. I just needed to cool off. But then you took your bags, and I thought you meant it when you said you couldn't take it anymore."

She smiled a watery smile. "I really thought I couldn't, right then. I don't see very clearly when I'm mad. I went over to Alicia's, and that whole night I just vented. She just listened, but didn't say one bad thing about you, which I desperately wanted her to. I didn't go to practice the next day, just stayed wallowing around her flat. When the anger wore off the tears came, and I realized how stupid I'd been. But by that time I'd already turned our fight into something huge in my mind. That you'd really wanted me to go."  
George wiped a tear off her cheek. "I hate it when you cry," he whispered. "I hate it when I make you cry. And I seem to be doing that too much lately."

"My own fault," she muttered. She dabbed at her eyes with her napkin and took in a breath. "Well, at least we know this won't happen again." George nodded in agreement. "Just a big misunderstanding," he added.

"Partly. But there's also stuff there we need to work on. George, I know how hard this past year has been for you. And I've tried to be whatever you needed to get through it, but I really think you need to work through these things. Not to get past it, because I know it's always going to be a part of you, but to learn how to live with it." Suddenly she laughed. "Great, now I sound like a therapist."

He smiled at her. "A bloody good one at that." She pretended to be flattered. "But you're right. I'm working on it. I've talked with Bill and Fleur, I am past all that stuff with Victoire. I'm still working on the Fred part, but I'll get there. I've got a deadline now," he added with a grin. "Nine months," he added when Angelina looked at him questioningly. "I'm gonna be a good dad, Ange. I'm scared out of my wits, but by Merlin I'm going to do it."

Angelina laid her head on his shoulder, not remembering a time she had ever been happier. "I'm going to be a good mother, too" she murmured. He kissed the top of her head.

"There was never any doubt about that, Ange," he replied with a smile.

The waitress returned, carrying two plates on her arm. With a flourish and a rather amused grin she set them down in front of the two. "_Voilà__! _My favorite…escargot!"

Angelina laughed, managing to choke on the sip of water she had just taken. George nodded in thanks at the women, a dismayed look on his face.

"Well," said Angelina, still chuckling slightly though her face had grown serious, "Are you brave enough, George?"  
George took a deep breath and gathered all the confidence and courage he could muster, reached for one of the snails and tossed it into his mouth without a moments hesitation to think about it. He swallowed, trying not to register the texture and gave Angelina a sort of defiant glare.

"See? I guess I am brave enough."

Angelina popped one of the tiny creatures in her own mouth, wincing slightly at the taste, before laying her head back down on his shoulder. A small smile played on her lips. "There was never any doubt about that, either."


	15. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

**Over two months since updating...If you haven't given up on me yet thank you so much! And please don't give up on me, because I love writing this story so I always will come back. The excuse this time can be summed up into 4 letters...APUSH. AP US History. If you have ever taken that class then you know my pain. I literally have no time except for to do Cornell Notes. So I sincerely apoligize, but it is likely going to be a month or two until I update again. But you never know, Thanksgiving break is soon, after all! **

**This chapter came about because I realize I had overlooked Angelina's family a bit, so now we finally meet them. I didn't do much research, so I don't know if JK Rowling has ever expanded on Angelina's family. If she has, and I went against it, just humor me. Read and review! Thanks :)  
**

George tugged nervously on his tie, not accustomed to wearing one ever since he left Hogwarts. Angelina had insisting on tying it for him, claiming that he didn't tie it neatly enough. That combined with the ridiculous suit rivaling the one he had worn Bill and Fleur's wedding, had been rather a knock to George's ego on an already trying morning.

"I still can't believe I've never met your parents. You're already practically part of my family. Mum thinks of you as another daughter."

Angelina gave a smile, glad and this reassurance of her place in George's world. "My family isn't like yours, I already told you that."

George shrugged. She'd told him the story of her family shortly after they'd returned from Paris. How her father had left when she was a child. She rarely saw him after that. He stopped by to visit maybe twice a year, always with some little trinket to make up for his long absences. Angelina pretended to be scornful when telling the story, as if the gifts meant nothing to her, but George knew she still treasured each and every one, kept in a box just underneath their bed. Her mother had never really gotten over her father's departure. She was never particularly brave, and that had just added to her fear and weakness, according to Angelina. The war with Voldemort had been too much for her, and she had gone into hiding, after a small effort to convince Angelina to go with her. Though they had sent a few letters back and forth since the end of it, Angelina hadn't seen her mother in over two years.

"Still, I just feel guilty."

"Don't," Angelina replied, slipping her arm through his. "Your family is more interesting, trust me." She bit her lip at this, though, for this was the first time her mother and father would have been in the same room together since the day he walked out. Things were bound to get interesting.

Angelina pulled George to a stop in front of a small townhouse with a well-groomed front garden. It looked idyllic, with ivy running up the stone walls and the paint on the shutters just faded enough to look charming. George wondered briefly if Ange had been exaggerating her family problems. He'd only ever had experience with the Burrow, where the chaotic and juxtaposing outside almost perfectly mimicked the family inside. They walked up the front steps to the porch and Angelina gingerly rang the doorbell.

"Oh, by the way. My parents are very traditional. They don't know that we're living together or that I'm, er, pregnant," Angelina said hurriedly in the split second before the door opened.

"_Wait, what?_" hissed George, as a harried looking woman opened the door. Her skin was tan, though not as dark as Angelina's, and her hair, pulled back into a fraying bun, had a definite tinge of red.

"Angie!" she crowed, pulled her daughter in and giving her a kiss on the cheek.

"Hi, Mum," she said, pulling back slightly from the embrace. "Is Dad already here?"

The woman scowled. "Yes. He arrived a few minutes ago. Thank Merlin you're here now. How I ever stood that man when we were married is beyond me. Pardon my manners, I'm Roxanne Crane, Angelina's mother," she said, turning to George.

"I'm George Weasley," he replied, shaking her hand. "Angelina's…" he looked at Angelina for help, not sure what he was supposed to—or allowed—to say here.

"Boyfriend," she added in, widening her eyes in warning.

"Yes, yes, very nice to meet you. Come on in, then."

"Would you give us just a moment, Ms. Crane? Ange and I have had a slight…misunderstanding. We'll just be a moment."

Roxanne seemed to deflate slightly. "Alright, but if you value my sanity, you won't take longer than a few minutes." She walked back through the door, closing it a little harder than necessary.

"They don't know?" George whispered incredulously.

"No. I'm sorry, George," she rushed on, reading the angry look in his eyes. "I haven't seen either of them in so long! I couldn't face telling them on my own!"

He sighed and wrapped an arm around her waist. "It's okay," he soothed. "I understand." Even telling Molly had been a bit daunting, though she was absolutely thrilled. She didn't, however, understand why there would be no wedding to plan—yet. "We'll tell them together." She nodded and gave him a watery smile. "One last thing…what do you mean, 'traditional'? Will they be just a little disappointed? Or is your father going to turn me into a parrot for it?"

Angelina laughed and shook her head. "He's not going to turn you into a parrot." George breathed out in relief and opened the front door to go it. "No, he stopped after the last guy couldn't change back." George whipped around to walk back out the door, but Angelina pushed him through. "I'm _kidding_."

They walked into a small parlor, where Ms. Crane was seated, looking rather uncomfortable, though it was her own house. On the couch across from her sat a man that could only be Angelina's father, for he bore a striking resemblance to her. He had the same high cheekbones and deep brown eyes, with a full mouth and dark skin. Yet where on Angelina these features added up to humbled beauty, on him George thought there was an air of arrogance. He stood up when they walked in and stared at Angelina. "Is that my little girl?" he called with laughter in his voice. "You're all grown up! I almost didn't recognize you." He strutted over to give her a hug, which Angelina returned with lukewarm affection.

"Maybe you'd recognize me easier if you'd made an effort to see me in the past four years."

Her father looked taken aback. "Don't be like that, sweetie. You know I wanted to see you. It's just things were busy, and then everything with You-Know-Who…" Angelina looked ready to give an angry retort, but her father cut in again. "Let's not fight. Why don't you introduce me to this young man?"

George watched as Angelina repressed her words with difficulty and turn to him with a smile. He caught her hand and gave it a squeeze, which she returned. "Dad, this is George Weasley."

"Pleased to meet you sir," George said, shaking his hand.

"A strong grip! Well, pleased to meet you, too. I'm Richard Johnson. Why don't we all have a seat, I believe Roxie is almost done preparing some lunch for us."

Roxanne stiffened at the nickname, which she had not heard for almost ten years. "It should be ready. Give me just a moment." She walked to the adjoining kitchen, where George watched her for a moment waving her wand about rapidly to prepare their meal before his attention was called away.

"So, a Weasley you say?" Mr. Johnson asked. "Do you know Harry Potter, then?"

"Yeah, he's my brother Ron's best friend and my sister Ginny's boyfriend. I've known him since he was eleven."

"Of course! You must have been a great deal involved, then? Perhaps even there…that night?"

George stiffened and sucked in his breath. Angelina's hand instinctively reached out to grip his, stroking her fingers soothingly over his knuckles. "Yes, Dad. We were both there. No, we are not going to talk about it. No, you are not going to write about it. No, you are not going to mention it again," Angelina stated firmly. Best to get that all out on the table. Her father was a freelance reporter, and could never pass up a good story. But Angelina was adamant about this, and her father looked shocked.

"Looks like you've gotten your mother's temper," he said warily. "Right, didn't mean to intrude. My apologies." There was an awkward silence for a moment or two, broken only by Ms. Crane's voice.

"Lunch!" called Roxanne from the dining room, where plates and food were whizzing aided by magic onto the table.

"It smells wonderful, Ms. Crane," George said, pulling a chair out for Angelina.

She smiled. "Thank you. Angelina tells me your mother is a wonderful cook, so that must be a compliment."

"Too bad I didn't get any of that talent. I tried to make Ange dinner one time, and it was a fiasco. No amount of magic in the world could have helped that mess."

The whole table laughed at George's expense, but Ms. Crane smiled approvingly. "Still, a man who will cook…Angelina's a very lucky girl." Angelina nodded vigorously.

"That reminds me," Richard interjected. "What do you do for a living, George?"

"I own a joke shop. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, in Diagon Alley."

"You must've heard of it, Dad. It's huge! Never a peaceful moment in there," Angelina said, smiling proudly.

"Can't say that I have. I don't get out to Diagon Alley much. Still, business sounds good, then?"

"Yeah, it's great. Obviously it was slow for a while…after. But things picked up again. Angelina actually is the reason, she saved the shop, I swear. She helped me run it for a long time, until she got on the Canons. Now my brother Ron is helping, at least until he finds something better to do with his life."

"The _Chudley Cannons_?" Richard asked incredulously.

"Yes, isn't that great?" Roxanne interjected, an edge in her voice. "Angelina told me a few months ago in a letter, I was so proud of you, darling."

"Thanks, Mum."

"My daughter is on the Canons. The worst team in the league. That's just great," groaned Richard, disgruntled. Angelina's face fell, loosing the glow of pride it had gained with her mother's compliment.

"Ange is the best Chaser there. In fact, she flies better than most of the other teams they've played. She fantastic," George said, defending her.

"If she's so good then why is she on the Canons?" retorted Mr. Johnson.

"Because it's not all about being the best, Dad," Angelina said softly, though with an accusatory edge.

"Obviously."

Roxanne cleared her throat, trying to break up an argument that might ensue. "George, would you mind passing the bread?"

"Er, of course." George was trying to read Angelina's face, see what she needed. He was suddenly enlightened about why she hadn't shared much about her family, especially her father. George saw her then, throughout her childhood. A young girl searching desperately for her father's approval and never finding it. And he saw the second before it happened that this was the last straw.

"I'm pregnant, Dad," she blurted out. Roxanne dropped the bread basket she had been receiving from George, where it clattered loudly on the china. "Oh, and George and I have been living together for about seven months. We're not married, and we're not engaged." George heard Roxanne breathing in raspy breaths beside him, but she said nothing. All eyes were fixed on Angelina's father. He hadn't moved in what seemed like ages. Then, he calmly pushed back his chair, folded his napkin and laid it on down, and walked out the door. No one spoke until they heard the gentle creak of the front door and knew that he had departed. Angelina burst into tears.

George pulled her into his arms, where she buried her head in his shoulder and sobbed. Ms. Crane's hands fluttered about nervously, wanting to comfort but unsure what to do. George made a gesture for her to come closer and gently transferred Angelina into Roxanne's arms. "I think she needs her Mum right now," he said, and excused himself from the table.

He walked upstairs, not intending to snoop, but found himself in what could only have been Angelina's room. The walls were painted uncharacteristically pink, but were nearly covered with posters, pictures, team banners and Gryffindor emblems. Angelina obviously hadn't lived there for years, but somehow George knew it hadn't been changed. As if Ms. Crane always kept it ready, waiting.

Absentmindedly he picked up a framed photo, and found himself looking himself looking at a young Angelina, swinging happily between her two parents. They stopped and waved when they saw George looking, and he gave a small smile back.

"He still sees her like that," a voice said from the doorway. George turned to find Ms. Crane watching him. "That's why he was so upset. She's still a little girl to him…to both of us." She walked over to the bed and motioned for George to sit next to her. "I've made some bad mistakes in my life. I regret hiding the most. Not just from Vol…Voldemort." She finished with a shutter, "But from Angelina. I was afraid of who she was becoming. She was turning into such a strong, confident woman that I was afraid one day she was going to wake up and realize what a coward I was. I never imagined she'd still need me." Tears spilled from the corner of her eyes. George realized with a start she looked like Angelina when she cried.

"I know she hates me for leaving. For not being strong. And I know there is no way I can make up for those lost years, but do you think I could try? I've lost so much…I would love the opportunity to regain something."

"Then you're not…you're not upset?"

"It's not what I would have wanted, no. But, despite what I may wish, I know Angelina is going to be a fantastic mother. And you, George, seem to be everything she needs. I'm happy for both of you."

George smiled. "She's what I need, too. A year ago…I was not in a good place." Roxanne nodded. Angelina had briefly mentioned to her what had happened. "And Ange, she was there. She was the only one who could make me feel like there was something still to live for. I honestly have no idea what I would have done without her. She's an amazing woman, and I do love her so much."

"I know. Angelina is very lucky to have you, and you her. She has the best of both of us, Richard and I. I know you must not look very kindly on him right now, and I don't blame you. But he was—is—a good man. We were a happy family for a while. That's why it hurts her so much; she still remembers what it was like. But can you promise me something? Help her forgive him. He loves her so much, despite what it may seem, and once he sees past his prejudices, he'll apologize. I know Angelina, and she won't easily forgive him. But a girl needs her father. She's gone too long without one. This hate is going to eat her up, as it did me. I didn't forgive him. I'm not sure now if I can. I don't want my daughter to go through the same, and I know she loves him, too."

George nodded. "She does, I know it, too."

"Good. I'm glad you'll help with that." She wrung her hands nervously. "Will you help me, too, then?"

"Of course. Anything."

"I just want to meet my grandchild," she said with a trembling voice. "And to regain my daughter."

George took her hand between both of his. "I would be honored to have you in my child's life. And Roxanne, I know Angelina misses you, too."

She nodded, smiling and crying. They walked downstairs, where Angelina was sitting on the couch, looking at an old photo album. Tear tracks were still visible on her face, though she was no longer crying. Roxanne looked to George, unsure of what to say.

"Ange, do you prefer Gram, Grandma, or Nana?"

Angelina smiled hesitantly, as if not sure if she understood correctly. "I always called my grandma Nana…"

George turned Roxanne. "Nana Crane it is, then."

"Mum…do you mean it?"

"If you'll have me, Angie."

Angelina opened her arms, and her mother fell into them, both laughing and crying at their long overdue reunion.


	16. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

**Another chapter at last! And with it, another sappy ending. My goal was for this chapter to not have a sappy ending, but that's just how it came out. I guess I just like writing them...Next one won't! **

**Thanks everyone, as always, for reviews etc. Please keep it up :)**

**Just out of curiosity...I'm going to start another story in the Harry Potter universe soon. I was planning on either writing about Teddy/Victoire or Luna/Rolf. I'll probably write both at one time or another, but which would you be more excited to read? Preferences much appreciated!  
**

It was an overcast Thursday afternoon, and Angelina was curled up under a blanket on the couch reading _Magic and Parenting: What to do and what not to do_, one of a large stack of parenting books she and George had recently picked up and Florish and Blotts. George was working in the shop below, busily training Ron, who had decided to work as a junior partner with George, at least for the time being. George wanted to take some time off after the baby was born, and Ron jumped at the chance to work at the highly profitable Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. "Whatever I can do to help, mate," he had so kindly offered.

A few weeks had passed since Paris, and Angelina felt that whatever pain she had gone through in the past had well been repaid by the bliss she was going through now. George was remarkably thoughtful, and relations with her mother had never been better. The one cloud in her blue sky was that she still hadn't spoken with her father, but she tried not to let that bother her. She sure wasn't going to apologize first.

The front door swung open, and George burst in with an endearing smile on his face, though he looked exhausted. Angelina scooted over to make room for him on the couch, and he collapsed beside her. "Phew!" he said. "Well, I guess we know that Ron didn't get the brains of the family."

"Neither did you, but you still manage," Angelina replied, managing to keep a straight face for a split second before she laughed. George pretended to be offended until Angelina apologized with a kiss, to which he responded enthusiastically until she pushed him off, laughing. "So Ron's not getting the hang of the shop as quickly as you'd hoped?"

"I'm seriously considering replacing him with one of the garden gnomes from the Burrow."

"Surely not that bad!"

George sighed. "Fine. Maybe that was a little mean. If I explain something to him he gets it. But you'd think after all the things he went through with Harry he'd have developed _some _problem solving skills!"

"You forget Hermione was with them," Angelina replied sagely.

"Too true. Maybe I should get her to work with me. She's practically a Weasley anyway." Then he laughed at the absurdity of Hermione working in the jokeshop. Besides, she was busy interning in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

"Ron still has seven months or so to learn. Besides, it's not like your leaving for good. You're just taking some time off. For which I'm very grateful, by the way."

"I suppose you're right. He'll shape up."

Just then, George and Angelina heard a popping noise coming from below them. They just had time to look at each other in confusion before there was a rumbling and an object shot through the floor, breaking several boards, and promptly burst into flames.

George shouted "_Protego!_" at the same time as Angelina shouted "_Augementi!_" resulting in the fountain of water to reflect off George's shield and drench both of them, the couch, and Angelina's books. Luckily, the flames extinguished themselves and the objected sputtered and then came to a complete stop a few feet from the couch. George got up and gingerly picked it up, recognizing its shape despite its charred exterior. One of his and Fred's patented fireworks lay at his feet.

There was a heavy banging in the stairwell, and seconds later Ron burst in the door, looking harried. "George! Angelina! Are you all right? I mean, er, that must've been a defect. I just saw it explode and came up here to make sure no one was hurt…" He trailed off at George's menacing look. Angelina began to shakily repair the boards and dry off all their objects as George took a few slow steps toward Ron.

"A defect, you say?"

Ron stumbled back a bit. "Er, yeah. I mean, I dunno… Fine! It wasn't a defect. Some kid didn't believe they worked 'cause I wouldn't set one off. So I thought I'd just set off one of those sparklers just to show him. Trouble is I grabbed the wrong one, and…it went through the roof. I was just trying to sell it!"

"We don't need sales that badly, idiot. Honestly, that's possibly the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Didn't I specifically tell you not to _ever _set off a firework in the store?"

Ron nodded sheepishly. "Are you going to fire me?"

George sighed reluctantly. "No. Mostly because I don't want to go through all the basic training again with someone else. But you are family, you know, and I think if you actually manage to engage some part of your brain, you won't be a total failure."

"Wow, thanks for the glowing compliment."

"Just telling it like it is."

"Alright. George, I really am sorry. I won't do it again. Promise." George punched him on the shoulder affectionately and led him to the door, before turning around to see the damage still left to them. Angelina had managed to dry up most of the water, so George turned to repairing the floorboards with a deft flick of his wand.

"Well, that was a disaster for the most part averted," he said when the room was back to normal.

"What if it hadn't been, though?" Angelina asked softly, her hands on her barely defined baby bump. "What if this had happened in seven months, and I had been in the other room while our baby was in here?"

"It won't happen again, Ange."

She shook her head. "You don't know that."

George came and wrapped his arms around her. "You're right." He sighed, knowing what was coming next. "Angelina, do you want to move?"

Angelina pulled back to look George in the face. "This apartment isn't very kid friendly," she replied honestly.

"I know. It's pretty small, isn't it? And I suppose today pretty much gave us no other choice. It's just that…there's so many memories here."

"You and I will make new memories somewhere else. But it's memories with Fred you're worried about, right?" George nodded. Angelina brushed the hair from his eyes gently, letting her fingers trace his face. "You know your memories of Fred aren't in the apartment? If we move it doesn't mean you are going to forget him."

"I know, it's just…This was where we started everything. If I left it, it would really feel like I was moving on. I'm not consumed by my grief anymore, thanks to you Ange. But I'm not ready to move on. I still miss him."

"Oh, George," Angelina said, voice choked by tears. She wrapped her arms tightly around him and buried her face in his neck. He laid his head on top of hers, and Angelina could feel the breath leaving his lips as he spoke.

"We can go looking for houses tomorrow."

Angelina pulled back and looked him in the eyes. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. I want a house with you, Ange. Where we can build a life together. Besides, if there's one thing you've taught me it's that moving forward doesn't mean I'm moving on."

Angelina gave a watery smile. "I'm glad I've helped you somehow, at least."

"You've made all the difference." George took in a shaky breath before asking, once again, the question he most wanted to know the answer to.

"Angelina, will you marry me?"


End file.
